Resonance
by SarahtheBardess
Summary: What if there were books in Harry Potter's world that were as interesting and as popular as the Harry Potter books are for us? Sixth year fic, post OotP. Now abandoned, but finished in summary form.
1. Bedtime Reading

Disclaimer: It's very simple. If you can find it (the character, place, thing, or idea in question) in a book with J.K. Rowling's name on the cover, it's hers. If not, it's mine.

Also, in this story, several characters are based on real people. The permission of all involved has been obtained. (In some cases, they insisted on being included.)

Thank you very much.

Chapter 1: Bedtime Reading

Privet Drive was dark, as it usually was at 1:00 in the morning on a warm summer night. Anyone on the street would have said all the lights in the houses were out. An observer from the backyards, though, would have been able to see that one light was still on, and that the occupant of the room was currently leaning on the windowsill and staring out the window.

The black-haired boy was still fairly small and scrawny, but he had a tough look about him. No one would mistake him for a wimp, even with his glasses. He had bright green eyes and, though no one could have seen it through his fringe, a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. In short, he was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.

_Except that at the moment I'm The Boy Who Can't Sleep Because The Nasty Nightmares Will Come And Get Me_, he thought, conscious of the irony. He had lived through danger and disaster, survived several attempts on his life by Lord Voldemort, the most feared Dark wizard for a hundred years, and Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters, and now he was afraid of dreams? Unfortunately, though, the dreams showed him everything he couldn't bear to see – the people who had died because of him, and worse, the people who might die.

He had only been back in the Dursleys' house for ten days, and for a week of that he'd been seeing his friends tortured and killed at night, every night. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were the most often featured, probably because they were Harry's best friends, but his year mates in Gryffindor house, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom, showed up fairly frequently.

Ron's older twin brothers Fred and George and his younger sister Ginny also appeared often – as a matter of fact, Harry realized, Ginny was there almost as often as Hermione or Ron. Most of the other members of the DA, the illicit Defense Against the Dark Arts club Harry had headed last year, were present every now and again, but there had been one whole night dedicated to Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seventh year Harry had briefly dated. _I guess I'm not as much over her as I thought I was_, Harry thought wryly.

Mrs. Weasley's boggart the summer before came to Harry's mind. Boggarts turned into whatever the person they were facing was most afraid of, and Mrs. Weasley's had turned into all the members of her family, one after another, dead on the floor. But there was no one here to cast a spell on him to take the nightmares away. That was assuming there even was such a spell. He knew there were potions for dreamless sleep, but could you take those every night? Did they have side effects? Were they addicting somehow?

_And that's only some of the dreams._ The rest showed him what had really happened because of him. Cedric Diggory, his fellow Triwizard champion, murdered without a chance in a graveyard somewhere in England, and all because Harry had insisted they try to split the championship honors between them.

Hermione being struck by a beam of purple light from a Death Eater's wand... Ron being attacked by a flying brain... the pain on Ginny's face as she clutched a broken ankle... Neville's screams under the Cruciatus Curse, which caused terrible agony, which had claimed the sanity of both his parents...

... and perhaps worst of all, his godfather, Sirius Black, falling through the veil at the Department of Mysteries, when Harry had gone there in the first place because he thought Sirius was there and being tortured by Voldemort.

Dreams of Sirius were especially terrible, because Sirius' fall was always in slow motion, and Harry felt that if he could only move fast enough, maybe this time he could save Sirius, but he knew even as he tried that he never could, never would. Those dreams were usually followed by the taunting laughter of Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had cast the spell that had pushed Sirius through the veil, and her master...

Harry shook his head violently to get rid of that line of thought and turned his gaze into the room. His trunk was open beside his desk, where Hedwig's empty cage stood. He wondered where she was. _She hasn't been back since yesterday morning. It doesn't take that long to deliver a letter to the Burrow._

A soft hoot sounded in his ear, and Harry almost jumped out the window. "Oh," he said weakly to Hedwig. "There you are." She was hovering outside the window, and Harry realized he was blocking her entrance. "Sorry." He moved aside, and she swooped in, depositing the package she was carrying on his bed.

Curious, Harry picked up the parcel. It was heavier than it looked – he was amazed that Hedwig had been able to carry it all the way from – wherever she had come from. He didn't recognize the handwriting on the outside, which worried him slightly. The only people who had ever sent him packages were Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius, and now Sirius was dead...

He forced that thought down. _One o'clock in the morning is the wrong time to think about it._

So, the parcel wasn't from Ron, Hermione, or Hagrid. Who could it be from?

_Only one way to find out..._

He pulled a pair of scissors out of his desk drawer and carefully slit open the top of the parcel. Then he ripped it the rest of the way.

There was a letter in an envelope on top of four individually wrapped packages. Harry tore open the letter, which was addressed in the same handwriting as the package.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy early birthday. I think you might like these. They're all the rage right now..._

He scanned down the letter to the signature.

..._hope to see you soon._

_Your friend,_

_Ginny Weasley_

Harry grinned, returned to the top of the letter, and began again.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy early birthday. I think you might like these. They're all the rage right now with the girls my age, and (although they won't admit it) with the boys too. Ron said they were baby stuff, but I spotted him with number 3 the other day, and then a couple days later he asked me very politely where number 4 was. Mum checked through them too, just to make sure there wasn't anything bad in them, and at first she didn't like them, but now she's crazy about them too. _

_Number 5 comes out in a few months. There'll probably be a release party at Flourish and Blotts – if you like them, maybe you could come along. Some people dress up like Muggles for it, and I thought even if you weren't going to come, you could give me some hints on my costume._

_I got these by Owl Order for a few Knuts each. They're a little stained, but nothing's missing or messed up. I hope you like them._

_Everyone is fine here. Hermione's coming in early August. Maybe for once you'll be here before she is. We all hope to see you soon._

_Your friend,_

_Ginny Weasley_

Harry put the letter aside and looked at the packages. It occurred to him that Ginny had never said in her letter exactly what they were, but her mention of Flourish and Blotts, the shop in Diagon Alley where he bought all his schoolbooks, had given him a clue...

One of the packages had a big number 1 drawn on it. _I guess that's the one I should open first._

He tore it open to find what he had expected – a book. It was a thick and colorful paperback that was somewhat dog-eared and worn but looked perfectly legible nonetheless. He flipped it over to see that the book was entitled _Erica Gorelli and the Indecipherable Seminar_. It showed a picture of a young woman in jeans and a sweatshirt. She was sitting on a wooden box and looking utterly perplexed as a gray-haired woman in a bright pink shirt and a very large necklace spoke to her.

Harry shrugged. He didn't see what would be so interesting about this.

The other books didn't look much better: _Erica Gorelli and the Hyperactive Actor_, _Erica Gorelli and the Insane Dorm Hall_, and _Erica Gorelli and the Costume of Doom._

But anything was better than sitting around, not daring to go to sleep. And hadn't there been something about this in the _Daily Prophet_ a few days ago?

He got up and rummaged through the mess on his desk until he found the edition of the paper he'd been looking for. Sure enough, there was a second-page article about the Erica Gorelli books, and how they were taking the wizarding reading world by storm. Apparently they had originally been intended for kids between eight and twelve, but had gained a huge following among older children and adults as well.

_I might as well see what all the fuss is about._ He opened _Indecipherable Seminar._

_I'll just have a look at the first few chapters._

**----**

Harry blinked and looked at the clock. _3:30? What happened to 1:00?_

He looked down at the book in his hands. There were a lot fewer pages on the right side of his place than there were on the left. In fact, he was nearly done with the book. _Wow. This is a lot better than I thought it would be._

It had turned out to be the story of an American college student and her trials and troubles through her first semester of college. Erica was a theater major and loved the theater, but another freshman girl, Mercy Lowdale, had gotten a part Erica had really wanted. Mercy wasn't Erica's only trouble – she also had to contend with one rude and one indecipherable professor, out of four classes.

On the plus side, though, Erica had made some good friends, notably Lanie Connor, a girl who loved running and science, Lizzie Hertzfeld, a notable prankster and cook, and Edith Lee, a martial artist and musician. Being a singer herself, Erica had joined the college women's choir, and there were hints being given that eventually she would advance to the co-ed choir and possibly even be allowed to join the elite minor choir.

The parts Harry had found himself enjoying the most were the parts about Erica's family. She had three younger siblings, two brothers and a sister, and because she went to school only about an hour from her hometown, she could go home on some weekends to see them and her parents. The family love Harry had seen displayed in the Weasley household in real life was repeated here in fiction.

_Whoever wrote this is really good._ He looked at the author's name. _K.J. Terning, huh? Never heard of him... or her._

He reached for the _Prophet_ again. K.J. Terning was an American witch who had published under her initials for the exact reason Harry had discovered for himself – so no one would know if she were male or female. She thought that boys were unlikely to read a book written by a woman and about a girl, but girls were unlikely to read a book written by a man.

What she apparently hadn't anticipated was that her books would become a huge success, with everyone in America, Britain, Australia, and anywhere else wizards and witches spoke English snatching copies. They had been translated into several other languages as well, and were selling just as well in France and Germany as they did in America and Britain.

Harry looked at the picture of K.J. Terning beside the article. She had long blond hair and was smiling in a bemused kind of way, occasionally giving a little wave. Harry felt a kind of kinship with her. _She never expected to be famous either._

_Ginny was right. These are really entertaining. _

_And I want to know how Erica did on her exams._

He opened the book at his place and began reading again.

When he finished, he was yawning so hard he was afraid he'd drool on the book, so he decided to give sleeping a try. His last thought before his eyes closed was of a scene from _Seminar_: Erica wrestling with Lanie on the floor of the lounge because Lanie had snitched her keys, with Lizzie and Edith cheering them on.

Harry slept peacefully until ten o'clock, dreaming of Ron chasing him through Gryffindor Tower because he'd stolen Ron's prefect badge, while Hermione and Ginny watched and laughed.

-----

(Reviews appreciated!)


	2. Ginevra

Chapter 2: Ginevra

Nearly two weeks later, Harry was up late again, pacing the house to avoid dreaming. The Erica Gorelli books had helped the nightmares a lot, giving him something else to think about – they were probably the only reason he wasn't a total wreck from sleep deprivation – but he couldn't read all the time.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were avoiding him almost completely this summer, and Dudley was doing his best not to see Harry at all, a difficult task for people living in the same house. Harry was helping them as much as he could, staying in his room for most of the day, coming down only for meals, such as they were.

There wasn't really much of anywhere else to go. One of the first letters he'd gotten from the Weasleys had contained a warning from Mr. Weasley not to leave the house. Apparently, whatever protection Privet Drive offered was only good within the actual walls of the house.

Harry had crumpled that letter and thrown it across the room when he realized this meant at least two or three weeks indoors, at the one place he hated most to be indoors. If it had been Hogwarts, or the Burrow, or even number 12, Grimmauld Place...

But perhaps number 12 wouldn't be such a good idea right now, Harry thought, pacing around the living room. It had been Sirius' home, the Black family home for generations, and the treacherous house-elf Kreacher lived there. It had been Kreacher who had told the Death Eaters, in the form of Sirius' cousin Narcissa, how to bring Harry out of his safety at Hogwarts, leading directly to Sirius' death...

He stubbed a toe on an armchair and bit back a swearword. Narcissa, besides being Sirius' cousin, was the mother of Harry's greatest enemy at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, had been one of the Death Eaters captured in the attack at the Ministry of Magic, where Sirius had died...

Harry pulled his thoughts away from that and back to his last sight of Draco Malfoy. The boy had made the mistake of attacking Harry in front of a group of DA members. D.A. officially stood for Defense Association, but among themselves, they were known as Dumbledore's Army. Malfoy and his thugs Crabbe and Goyle hadn't stood a chance. By the time the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were through with them, they had looked like human-sized slugs, stuck onto the top luggage rack of the Hogwarts Express.

Harry grinned at the memory. "Malfoy was such a fool," he said softly.

A sound from outside the window made him spin towards it –

– just as a cat sprang through it and into the living room.

Harry jumped back, then felt foolish. He didn't really know any cats, except Hermione's orange tabby, Crookshanks. For all he knew, they leapt through strangers' living room windows every day.

He turned on a lamp to get a better look at it. Like Crookshanks, this cat was an orange tabby, but this cat was sleek and slender, with warm brown eyes... _wait a second._ "Cats don't have brown eyes, do they?" he asked himself, trying to remember. Crookshanks' were yellow, he knew that much...

The cat shook its head.

Harry stared at it. "Do you understand me?" he whispered.

The cat nodded hard, as if desperate to get the point across.

"Are you an Animagus?" Witches and wizards who could turn into animals were rare. Sirius had been one – his animal form had been a huge black dog. Harry's own father had been one as well, and his Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, could take the form of a cat, but Harry thought he remembered her being gray...

The cat meowed quietly, but with definitely speech-like inflections.

Harry blinked. "Did you just say "Maybe?"

Another nod. This might be a dream, but if so, it was the most bizarre Harry had had all summer.

"All right. Do I know you?"

The cat nodded again. Suddenly its head whipped toward the window, and it yowled – a long, low, frightened sound.

"What's wrong?" Then Harry heard it too – voices, getting closer. He turned the lamp off and pulled out his wand.

The people who appeared around the corner weren't out of the ordinary so much in themselves. They looked a lot like office workers or bureaucrats, probably because they were precisely that. Still, their robes would have gotten a lot of odd looks on straight-laced Privet Drive. So, probably, would their conversation.

"Where can the blasted thing have gotten to?" snapped the brunette woman.

The red-haired man in glasses stiffened. "Don't talk that way about my sister."

"Well, Weasley, if your sister hadn't been where she wasn't supposed to be, I would never have done what I did!" the woman snapped back.

Percy Weasley made an inarticulate but angry-sounding noise, and the group of three moved into the cone of light shed by a streetlamp.

Harry watched them muttering together. The cat was pressed against his side, purring, but he remembered Hermione telling him that cats would sometimes purr when they were frightened. With his free left hand, he reached down to stroke the creature's head. "It's all right now," he murmured. "It's all right... you'll be just fine..."

"What was that?" the woman demanded, spinning to face the house. "I heard something... _Lumos!_"

Harry ducked quickly as a beam of wand-light shone across the room. It would have struck full on his face, reflecting off his glasses, if he had not gotten out of the way in time. Hearing footsteps approaching the house, he secreted himself directly below the window, so that no one could see him without sticking their whole head through it, and if they did that, he could not be blamed for attacking first and asking questions later. He wished he'd thought to bring his Invisibility Cloak along, but he had not known, when he got up around midnight, that anything like this was going to happen...

"Wait!" Percy Weasley's voice rang out loudly in the night air, and his two companions shushed him hurriedly. He dropped his voice only a bit, though, and Harry could hear every word clearly. "Don't you know who lives here?"

"Muggles, I'd assume," said the woman's voice. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters!" Percy was obviously upset. "This is the house where _Harry Potter_ lives!"

Harry frowned. Why did Percy know his Muggle family's address?

"It is?" asked the other man, silent until this point, and Harry recognized the usually unctuous tones of Cornelius Fudge, current (but not for much longer, said his letters from Ron) Minister of Magic. He sounded oddly worried. "Do you think... he'd hold a grudge, Weasley? I mean, after all, I was rather rude to him last year..."

"I doubt it, Minister," said Percy impatiently, "and besides, he is still underage, and I can't say for sure, but I doubt he'd do anything out-and-out illegal. Against the rules, yes, of course, but I think he has a touch of respect left for the law at this point..."

"You are the expert, Weasley," said the woman with just a trace of boredom in her voice, "but tell us, why does it matter that a wizarding boy, however famous or important he may be, happens to live here? At this time of night, he's not likely to be awake, is he? Why shouldn't we simply Disillusion ourselves, enter the house, find the girl, and leave with her – if she is in fact here?"

"It matters, Madam Secretary, because since my sister was eleven years old, she has practically worshiped Harry Potter. And he has shown a strong tendency in the past to protect others, even from their own follies and troubles. If she has entered this house – if he is here – she will probably, by now, have let him know who she is, and solicited his protection. In that case, he would indeed be awake, and probably convinced that we're a danger to her, perhaps even that we're... not what we look like," Percy finished lamely, but everyone listening knew what he meant.

_Death Eaters._ The phrase trembled in the air without ever being said.

"Very well, Weasley," said Fudge finally. "We should probably be getting back to the Ministry anyway, we've wasted enough time with this..."

"And besides, Minister, if Harry Potter does have her, he can inform my parents of her whereabouts and spare me the trouble." Percy's voice faded as he walked away from the window, and a moment later, the quiet of Privet Drive was shaken somewhat by one small pop and two loud bangs.

Harry sat up and peered out the window, already knowing what he would see – an utterly peaceful street, except for the first of the sleepy neighbors opening their windows to look for the backfiring truck or the unlawful teenager setting off fireworks in the middle of the night.

"Come on," he whispered to the shivering cat, carefully gathering her to his chest. "We have to get upstairs before they wake up."

Stepping carefully onto the second stair, Harry climbed as noiselessly as he could manage, the cat curled in the crook of his left arm, claws hooked into his shirt – he could just feel them through the fabric – and with his wand still out and ready. He wasn't really expecting any Death Eaters, or even Percy Weasley, to pop into existence in front of him, but his life had had enough unpleasant surprises in it, to this point, that he wasn't willing to risk anything.

He made it to the top of the stairs, and finally into his room, without any response from the Dursleys other than his uncle's and Dudley's usual snores. It seemed they had managed to sleep through the whole thing. Harry was grateful for that piece of luck.

Hedwig hooted softly in welcome as Harry collapsed onto his bed, releasing the orange cat, who flowed to the foot of the bed and sat down, looking at him with very human – and very familiar – brown eyes.

"Ginny?" he said tentatively.

The cat nodded firmly.

Harry thought for a moment. _This almost feels like a set-up of some kind. No one who wants to harm me is supposed to be able to get in here... but I suppose a little "Constant Vigilance" wouldn't hurt... _

"If you're really Ginny, then you won't mind showing me what you sent me for my birthday."

The cat gave him a somewhat offended look, then jumped off the bed, walked deliberately over to the bookshelf, reared onto her hind legs, and pulled out the Erica Gorelli series with her front paw, one at a time. She came back to the bed, leapt up, and sat down, staring at Harry challengingly.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "Your mother is going to have a _fit_," he said finally, and the cat – Ginny – began to purr again, with an odd added quality that sounded, or felt, a lot like laughter.

"I guess I'd better let her know where you are... and what you are... and 'spare Percy the trouble'," he added, imitating the Weasley brother's voice as best he could, and Ginny's purr redoubled.

Harry went to his desk, sat down, found ink, parchment, and quill, and discovered a warm furry weight on his lap. "What are you doing?"

Ginny looked up at him with inscrutable cat eyes and merely settled herself more firmly into her curled-up position.

"Fine, sit there if you want. Just don't get in the way or knock the ink over or anything."

Ginny hissed mildly, in a tone of mocking reproof, as if to say, _What in the world gives you the idea that I would do that?_

Harry dipped his pen and began to write.

_Mrs. Weasley and Everyone,_

_Ginny is all right. She's here with me at number 4. She's a cat, but it's definitely her, and I overheard some wizards in the street looking for her._

No need to tell them who the wizards were, or that one of them had been Ginny's own brother, and apparently only mildly concerned for her whereabouts or the fact that his superior had changed her form...

_I can have her here for a few days, but my aunt and uncle will notice eventually, and my aunt hates animals in the house. Please write back soon._

_Harry_

He blew on the letter to dry the ink, then looked down at Ginny. "Where is everybody? The Burrow?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Headquarters, then?" Harry didn't want to say the address aloud, but Ginny would understand.

She nodded, then squirmed a bit and, in the sudden way of cats, was on the desk without seeming to go through any intermediate steps like actually jumping up. She nudged the ink bottle with her nose, tilting it without knocking it over. Then she sprang one front claw and moved it over the edge of the parchment.

Harry frowned. Ginny had to repeat her motions before he caught on. "You think you can write with your claw? Using it like a quill?"

She nodded again.

"All right." Harry poured a little ink onto a scrap of parchment, hoping it wouldn't get through and stain the desk, and Ginny delicately dipped her claw into it and began. It was slow work, but eventually she got a message scratched at the bottom of the parchment. It was just one word, and one Harry had never seen before: Ginevra.

"What's that?"

Ginny tapped her paw on her own chest.

"You? Is that your name, your real name?"

She nodded, and Harry realized he had never thought about her full name before. Obviously no parents would name a child just plain Ginny, especially not their only daughter. "That's pretty."

Ginny purred.

"So your mum and dad will know it's really you, and I'm not just having delusions." Harry folded the letter and addressed it, then stood up and went to Hedwig's cage. She was awake and had been watching the whole scene with what appeared to be fascination. He held out the letter, and she nibbled his fingers before she took it.

"You'd better hurry, Hedwig. They must be frantic by now."

Hedwig ruffled her feathers, then launched herself out of the cage, out the window, and was gone into the night.


	3. Comforting a Friend

Chapter 3: Comforting a Friend

Harry rubbed his forehead and looked at the clock. 2:43. It seemed unlikely that he would be able to sleep tonight. "You want a snack or anything?"

Ginny nodded and descended from the desk to follow Harry down the stairs like an orange shadow, carefully jumping the bottom stair when he stepped over it. He found the nonfat milk in the refrigerator and poured a cup for himself and a small bowl for her. Then he tried not to laugh as she figured out how to lap up the milk, cat-wise. Once she got the hang of it, though, she was pretty good with it, Harry had to admit.

He sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed the difference from his usual times there, which involved his uncle glowering and his aunt and cousin ignoring him. Now he had pleasant company, even if she currently couldn't talk.

When they were both finished, and Ginny had cleaned her face and whiskers (another process which made Harry look away so as not to insult her by laughing), they went back upstairs. Ginny curled up at the bottom of Harry's bed again, closed her eyes, and was apparently asleep within moments.

Oddly, Harry felt the same way. He hadn't been interested in sleeping that night, since his first dream had woken him covered in sweat and with tears of frustration running down his face. He'd been hearing the taunting laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange as he chased her through a maze, like the one he had threaded at the Triwizard Tournament – he could run as fast as he liked, but she was always one turning ahead...

He shook his head, trying to clear out the thoughts, and pressed his hands to his eyes to keep from crying again. He had tried reading, but his eyes kept blurring up, and finally he had put _Insane Dorm Hall_ back on the shelf and gone to pace instead. He knew it really wouldn't help anything, though, because the emotions got stronger as he grew more tired. Anger, fear, boredom, and grief...

He couldn't stop it now, he was going to cry; the best he could hope for was to keep from waking the Dursleys, as he had, screaming, his first night of the dreams...

Suddenly there was a box of tissues under his hand, and a warm vibrating weight on his lap, poking one of his legs with small sharp things, and even though he couldn't stop crying, Harry felt better about it. It somehow didn't matter that it was really Ginny Weasley sitting on his lap, his best friend's little sister, who had once had a stupid crush on him... all that mattered was that she was willing to try to comfort him, that she could comfort him...

He knew that if Ron and Hermione had been there, they would have done what they could for him, brought him tissues or sat with him and listened. Probably they wouldn't have sat on his lap, though...

Weakly, Harry chuckled at the thought of Ron sitting on his lap, and the worst of the tears were over. Ginny kept purring, and slowly Harry was able to get himself under control, wipe his glasses and his face, swallow a few times and make his throat feel better.

He looked down at her. "Thanks," he said a bit shakily.

She looked up at him, and though she couldn't speak, Harry felt he knew what she would have said. _It's no problem. What else are friends for?_

"I have to get up now," Harry said, and Ginny immediately removed herself, returning to the end of the bed. He stood up carefully, picked up the box of tissues (which had teeth marks in one end, he noticed) and returned them to his bedside table, and went across the hall to wash his face and get a drink of water. When he returned, Ginny had moved to the windowsill, and as soon as he shut the door, she beckoned him with a paw.

He crossed the room and looked out the window. "I don't see anything."

She pressed her paw against his lips, then batted his ear. The message was clear. _Shut up and listen._

Harry listened, and heard something that made him smile. He hurried out the door, down the stairs, and into the living room, and looked out the window to see exactly what he had thought he would see – two identical silhouettes coming down the street, arguing as they came.

"Are you sure it was number 14?"

"No, I'm not. I thought you were going to write it down."

"I thought you said you were!"

"I never said that. Why would I say that?"

As they drew level with the house, Harry cleared his throat. Both of them jumped (identically) and had their wands pointed at him within seconds.

"Try number 4," he said, grinning. The pair relaxed. "Come on in, I'll unlock the door. Just don't make too much noise."

"Don't bother," said one of the shadowy forms.

"We'll just come in on our own," said the other.

"No, don't do that – you'll wake them up!"

"No, we won't."

"We've improved a lot since you saw us last."

And with small popping sounds that certainly wouldn't wake the Dursleys, Fred and George Weasley Disapparated in the street and Apparated within the Dursleys' living room. Ginny, who had followed Harry down the stairs, gave a quiet yowl of joy and leapt at them. George caught her, rubbed her head with his knuckles, and held her up for Fred to see.

"Hmmmm," said Fred, looking carefully at her. "Whoever did this was good. But I think I can say, without fear of contradiction – "

"We're better," finished George, handing Ginny to Fred. "And this shouldn't be too difficult to reverse."

"Wait a minute," said Harry, a little taken aback by the sudden turns of events. "You can't do magic here. I'll get in trouble."

"Who said we were going to do it here?" George asked. "We're taking Ginny back to headquarters. And we have official orders," he added, fishing a parchment envelope out of his pocket, "to take one Harry Potter with us."

"If he wishes to come," said Fred, sweeping an elegant bow.

Harry opened his Hogwarts letter eagerly. It was much the same as always, except for a short note tucked into it, in Professor McGonagall's handwriting:

_Looking forward to seeing you here, Potter. Come to my office when you get back to school._

"Let me get my things," he said.

The twins helped him gather his supplies and clothes and pack his trunk. Harry was careful to slip the Erica Gorelli books into the bottom of his cauldron while George was rummaging in his shirts and Fred was investigating the bathroom. He had a feeling the twins would tease him unabashedly if they caught him reading kids' books.

"No need to take anything downstairs this time," said Fred, coming back into the room. "George, here, has a Portkey in his pocket."

"Isn't it lovely?" said George, dropping the shirts on top of the cauldron, to Harry's great relief, and handing him a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_, dated July 12th. "Guaranteed for four and a trunk – I do hate traveling by Portkey with luggage, though, I always seem to be the one who gets knocked over by the trunk when we arrive."

"That's only because you're always the one holding the trunk when we leave," said Fred, dumping an armload of socks into it. "And speaking of leaving..." He checked his watch. "It's set for 4:00, which is in about nine minutes, and that's the last of your stuff, so we've no need to hurry. Why don't you tell us what happened? Mum, as you probably realized, was having kittens – sorry, Ginny – by the time your letter got there, because Ginny wasn't even supposed to leave the house, and here it was three-thirty in the morning and she still wasn't back."

Ginny stuck out her tongue at her older brother.

"Everyone's been worried," George put in. "Dad was enchanting and disenchanting this little statue, making it run around, and Hermione kept making these funny noises, and I think Ron probably paced a hole through the rug before Hedwig flew in. Mum snatched the note off her and read it aloud, and it was wonderful. 'Ginny is all right!'" He imitated his mother's voice. "'She's here with me at number 4! She's a cat... she's a _what?_'"

"She almost had a fit right there," Fred said in a tone of satisfaction. "It was brilliant, Harry. You ought to send more letters like that."

"But what happened?" asked George. "How did you know who she was?"

"I... didn't, at first," Harry said slowly. The beginning might be hard to explain – could Fred and George, two people who never seemed to have a serious thought, understand the pain that kept him from sleeping at night? "I was... walking around downstairs. I had the window open because it was hot, and all of a sudden, there's a cat in the room, and it seems to understand English. I had no idea what it wanted, and then I heard voices out in the street..."

"That's right, your letter said you heard wizards talking about her," George recalled. "Anyone we know?"

Ginny nodded firmly, and Harry flinched a little. "Yes. Well, one witch I didn't recognize, and two wizards I did. Fudge, and..." He didn't want to say it, but he would have to. "Percy."

Ginny's lips went back and she hissed quietly. Fred scowled. "Should have known," he said, quietly but with a real edge of menace on it.

"It wasn't Percy, though," Harry added quickly. "The witch said she had done... whatever she did... to change Ginny, and Percy actually seemed concerned about Ginny, at least some."

"But not enough to actually find her," George said angrily. "Not enough to see if she was in trouble."

There didn't seem to be anything Harry could say to that.

"Portkey in two minutes," Fred announced, and suddenly Harry saw half a dozen things he hadn't packed, and everything was a mad rush for ninety seconds until he found himself standing between Fred and George (George holding the closed trunk on edge beside him, of course) with Ginny in the crook of his arm, her paws and his hand on the paper.

"Five... four... three... two... one..." Fred counted, and there it was, the feeling of traveling by Portkey – the jerk behind the navel, the flying through the air and mad rush of colors – tinged this time by pain in his arm as Ginny hung on with her back claws – and then the landing, usually accomplished with a thud.

Harry felt himself falling and threw Ginny into the air so she wouldn't get squashed, then just barely managed to get out of the way of his trunk and George, only to be landed on by Fred instead. Ginny flew across the room, yowling, and landed on the sideboard, spitting angrily.

Someone was laughing, and someone else was trying not to. Harry rolled out from under Fred to see, as he had expected, Ron and Hermione; Ron was laughing outright, and Hermione, as usual, looked torn between laughter and concern. He grinned at them; after all, no one was hurt, and it must have looked funny. After a moment, everyone was laughing, even Fred and George as they picked themselves up from the floor.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley burst through the door of the kitchen, embraced Harry, and was immediately by the sideboard – Harry thought she might actually have Apparated there – scooping up Ginny. "Oh, my dears, you're all right, everyone's all right – "

Mr. Weasley hurried into the kitchen almost on his wife's heels, and relaxed greatly when he saw the cat in her arms. He shook Harry's hand warmly. "Harry, thank you so much. You've done as much as any of my sons would have for their sister – more, in some cases – " His face hardened, and Harry winced inwardly, knowing he would have to hurt the Weasleys later by telling them that Percy was apparently under the orders of the witch who had enchanted Ginny, and hadn't seemed to care much about her one way or another.

"All right, Mum, all right, now can we get her disenchanted so you can give her a proper hug?" George was saying. "You might strangle her if you keep on like you're doing."

"Oh – of course, of course..." Mrs. Weasley released Ginny, who did look somewhat rumpled, and the cat leapt lightly to the floor, to sit facing her tall identical brothers, tail twitching lightly.

"Now just hold still, Ginny," said Fred, flexing his wand hand once or twice. "I don't _think_ this hurts."

Ginny hissed and sprang the claws of one front paw, and everyone laughed.

Then Fred and George lifted their wands in unison, aimed them at Ginny, and apparently did nothing, but the small cat-figure of Ginny began to twist, writhe, grow, and Harry was irresistibly reminded of the first time he'd seen magic such as this, near the end of his third year at Hogwarts, when Professor Lupin and Sirius had forced Wormtail to appear in his true shape –

He forced that thought down. He had to be happy right now, so he wouldn't spoil everything for everyone else –

"_Ginny!_" Mrs. Weasley flung herself upon her daughter, who now looked somewhat disheveled but otherwise no different than she usually did. Mr. Weasley embraced them both. Ron caught Harry's eye and mouthed, "Chamber of Secrets?" Harry grinned. It did remind him somewhat of that rather eventful night, when he had saved Ginny's life and defeated both a basilisk and a physical memory of Tom Riddle, the boy who would become Lord Voldemort.

For this moment, at least, he was nearly as happy as he had been that night.


	4. Making Toast

Chapter 4: Making Toast

"I never thought I'd be grateful to Draco Malfoy," said Ginny over her tea a little later.

"Malfoy?" asked Ron disgustedly, looking as if he'd bitten into a vomit-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Harry said something about him as I was passing the house," Ginny informed her brother, rolling her eyes. "I figured anyone who knew a Malfoy might be a Dark wizard or witch, but they would at least be a wizard or a witch, and that would be a place to start."

"And instead of any old wizard or witch, you get Harry," said Fred, shaking his head. "That's just amazing."

"Maybe not," said Hermione. "What were you doing in Little Whinging anyway, Ginny?"

"I had no idea where I was," Ginny retorted. "They took me there."

"Who took you?" asked George.

"A witch I've never seen before, and Cornelius Fudge, and Percy," Ginny said tartly.

The room broke into babble. Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and produced a loud whip-crack noise which shut everyone up.

"Why don't you tell it to us from the beginning, love," she said, hugging her daughter, "and all the rest of you just stay quiet until she's finished!" she snapped at her husband, her sons, Harry, and Hermione.

"Well, the beginning's where I was really stupid," said Ginny, flushing. "I was in the front room, reading, and I saw Percy walking down the street. I was confused – I mean, he can Apparate, what's he doing walking somewhere? And I decided – I have no idea why, now – to follow him and find out what he was doing. I'm really sorry, Mum. I should have realized it was a stupid idea."

"Everyone makes mistakes, dear." Mrs. Weasley must be as anxious as everyone else to hear more, Harry thought, if she was letting this amount of misbehavior from Ginny slide. "Do go on."

"So I went out the front door and followed him," Ginny continued, "and he didn't go very far, only about three blocks over. I could probably find the place again if I tried. He knocked at the door and gave some kind of password, and they were about to let him in when I ran up behind him and called his name."

She giggled. "He jumped about a mile. Then he started telling me to get out of there, that it wasn't safe, that I could get hurt, and then the door shot open and this witch was standing there. Kind of tall, brown hair, wearing green robes, and looking really angry. She was the one who turned me into a cat. Then she conjured a cage around me and took me inside."

Ginny shivered. "I don't think I like cages," she said quietly. "Percy was really angry with her, though. He kept saying how she had no right to do anything to me, and the house was supposed to be kept magic-free, and she kept saying how I got what I deserved, this was important and I shouldn't have interrupted, and I wasn't hurt and he could take me home after they finished the job. They were almost yelling when Minister Fudge knocked on the door."

"Did you hear a name for the witch at all, Ginny?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"The Minister called her..." Ginny shut her eyes, remembering. "I think it was Athena," she said finally.

"Athena?" exclaimed Mr. Weasley. "Athena Fleming? The Secretary for National Defense against Dark Wizardry? Merlin's beard, what's she doing mixed up in this?"

"I think I may know, Dad," said Ginny dryly, "if you'll let me tell you."

"Sorry, love, sorry..."

"The Minister really reamed Percy out. Couldn't he keep his family out of this and all that. He finished up with something like 'If I can't trust you out of my sight, I guess I'll need to go with you this time – yes, and the Secretary too – yes, and this blasted cat! If she is your sister, you ought to be able to keep track of her for the ten minutes it will take us to make this rendezvous and come back!" Ginny imitated Fudge's pompous tones very well. Everyone laughed.

"So they left the house with me and walked a few blocks to a park, and they Portkeyed from there to... somewhere else, where is it you live, Harry? Little Whinging?"

"That's the name," Harry said, "but I don't live there. I just have to stay there for a few weeks every so often. I hate it there."

"It's not a very pleasant kind of place," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Anyway, once Fudge and Percy and the witch – Ms. Fleming, Secretary Fleming – and I got to Little Whinging, they had to look at a map for a while, and finally they found a park and sat down on a bench and waited. And waited. It must have been the middle of the night before the other people showed up."

"The other people?" repeated Mrs. Weasley blankly.

"The people they were there to meet. They didn't just go out on an excursion for their health. It was a prearranged meeting. And I knew one of them. Draco Malfoy's mother."

Hermione gasped. Ron muttered something under his breath. Mr. Weasley leaned forward, intent on his daughter's every word.

"She was there to pay Fudge off for looking the other way while Lucius Malfoy breaks out of Azkaban," Ginny said, every word carefully bitten off. "He still can't believe the Malfoys could be involved in anything so terrible, and I think he's trying to finance some kind of new project to try to make himself look better in the eyes of the public after the whole You-Know-Who fiasco. At least that was what it sounded like."

Mr. Weasley treated the table to a description of Fudge that had Ron staring, the twins open-mouthed, and Mrs. Weasley, with her hands clapped over Ginny's ears, saying, "_Really_, Arthur!"

"Yes, really, Molly," said Mr. Weasley, his voice trembling with anger. "Oh, this will set a few robes on fire at the Ministry, it will..."

"After the gold exchanged hands," Ginny continued, "Mrs. Malfoy got a look at me, and she thought I was just the darlingest thing she'd ever seen. She couldn't live without me, and couldn't she just see me for a minute? And Percy kept on saying no, and she kept on insisting, and finally she opened the cage with her wand and tried to Summon me." Ginny snickered. "She should have Stunned me first. I bit her and ran."

"That's my girl," said Mr. Weasley absently. "Consorting with Death Eaters..." he muttered to himself.

"I heard them yelling at me to come back, saying I didn't know where I was going, but I was so scared by then I didn't know what to do, so I just ran. Percy and Fudge and the Secretary chased me. I guess Mrs. Malfoy and her people Disapparated or Portkeyed away or something. They didn't seem too interested in getting me back. Then I heard someone say 'Malfoy was such a fool' inside one of the houses, and I jumped through the window, and there was Harry. And that's it."

Mr. Weasley jumped up from the table, came around it and hugged Ginny, then hurried out the door to the stairs. "Start with Amelia..." Harry heard him mumbling. The twins shot each other significant looks, then followed their father.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "You're safely back, Ginny love, that's all that matters now. But if you ever do anything like that again, I'll pickle you in one of Severus Snape's concoctions until your skin turns purple, understand?"

"Understood, mum," said Ginny with a straight face, glancing at Harry. Harry coughed and decided to develop an interest in the tabletop.

"Is there anything to eat, Mum?" asked Ron. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," said Hermione. "But I am too. What time is it?"

"It's almost 5," said Harry, looking at his wristwatch.

Ron yawned. "Oh dah, ih oo ay oh ee-ih," he said with his mouth wide open.

"What?" said Ginny.

"I said, oh damn, it's too late for sleeping," grumbled Ron.

Mrs. Weasley reached across the table and flicked Ron's head with her fingers. "Mind your language, young man. Let me see what I can find in the pantry." She bustled over to the larder door.

"None of us have to be anywhere tomorrow – today – do we?" asked Hermione. "As you're always telling me, Ron, it's summer. We can sleep late for once."

Something was bothering Harry, and suddenly he put his finger on it. "Hermione, what are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming for another couple weeks."

Hermione shrugged. "To tell the truth, I don't have much in common with my parents anymore. I love them still, of course, but I'm so out of the Muggle world for most of the year that I really don't have anything I can talk to them about." She seemed uncomfortable talking about it, so Harry let it drop.

Mrs. Weasley emerged just then with a loaf of bread and some butter, and conversation ceased for a while as everyone paid attention to their slice of bread, browning it to what each person considered perfection. Hermione liked hers just dark enough to be seen, Ginny a bit darker than that, Harry preferred his noticeably brown, and Ron probably would have eaten it had it turned into charcoal on the toasting fork.

Mrs. Weasley kissed Ginny one more time and disappeared upstairs, probably to help Mr. Weasley with whatever he was doing, Harry thought. He moved a bit closer to Ginny on the hearthstone. "So what were you reading?" he asked quietly.

Ginny looked up in surprise. "What?"

"What were you reading when you saw Percy going by?"

Ginny smiled. "What do you think?"

Harry chuckled. "Which one?"

"_Costume of Doom_."

"I haven't read that one yet, I'm still only halfway through _Insane Dorm Hall_," Harry confessed.

"Oh, I love that one," Ginny said. "But then, I love them all. Every time I read them, I find new things to enjoy. There's just so much detail, and then the big overarching story that ties it all together..." She gestured with the hand not holding a toasting fork. "I think they're just wonderful. How about you?"

"They're the only reason I've been able to sleep lately," Harry said, checking to make sure Ron and Hermione couldn't hear. They seemed very occupied by their toast. "I guess I see myself in the characters. Myself, and you, and Ron and Hermione, and everyone else. A kind of resonance between the real world and fiction."

"Resonance..." Ginny mused. "That reminds me of something... oh, that's right! How do you like the choir practice scenes?"

"Well, I like the jokes the choir director tells," Harry said, thinking back. Erica had sung in the women's choir in _Seminar_ and _Actor_, and then she had finally gotten into the co-ed choir in _Dorm Hall_... "And I like how they all call him Big Guy. Why do you ask?"

"Well..." Ginny seemed to be blushing again, but it might have been the heat of the fire. "I've always wanted to sing, but there was just never enough time or enough... enough _money_," she said fiercely, "for me to take lessons. So I've been thinking, maybe I could train myself, using what Big Guy says about using your voice right. The idea with the big tin can and the other cans to put inside it. What do you think?"

Harry shrugged. "'Fraid I didn't read that part too carefully, Ginny, but I guess it could work. You'd have to find somewhere to practice, though..."

"I thought the Room of Requirement," Ginny said, "because if I thought about needing a piano to check my tuning with, it could probably give me one."

"You can borrow the Marauder's Map if you ask very nicely," Harry teased, and Ginny giggled.

There was a burst of flame on the end of Ginny's toasting fork, and she sighed. "Well, there goes that piece of bread." She pulled it out of the fire and looked at it dejectedly. It was burnt to a crisp.

"I'll eat it, Ginny," Ron said. "You can have mine." He handed her his toasting fork in exchange for his and turned back to his conversation with Hermione.

Ginny looked at the bread on the fork. "This is barely toasted at all," she said, touching it. "It's hardly even _warm_." She looked over at Ron and Hermione. "Whatever they're doing over there, I don't think it has anything to do with toast." She glanced into the fire. "Harry, I think yours is done."

She was right, which spared Harry having to ask her what she meant.

-----

(A/N: This should have gone on Chapter 1, but I posted too fast – sorry!

Harry's reaction to the Erica Gorelli books is almost exactly my reaction to the Harry Potter books, words and actions both, except that I was in a library, where I was supposed to be doing service hours... you should never leave me alone around books.

Ron's reaction is equivalent to my dad's – he didn't say "baby stuff" exactly, but he made it very clear he didn't want anything to do with Harry Potter. Right up to the point where I found him reading my copy of PoA.

Mrs. Weasley, of course, is analog to my mom. She was reading in a hurry, and she was worried about Satanism and stuff, so her first verdict on PS/SS was "It's not that good." A few weeks later, though, she read the first three in three days, then announced she was taking a two week vacation before she read GoF. Ha. Three days later, she had finished it.

Then, of course, came OotP, and we fought over that for days...

CapriceAnn: Thanks for crossover! Enjoy!

nadine: Thanks for starting with me! Enjoy!)


	5. Blessing

Chapter 5: Blessing

Harry followed Ron up the stairs, being as quiet as possible to avoid setting off the portrait of Mrs. Black, which had still not been removed from the front hallway. Ginny and Hermione were right behind him.

"Same rooms as last year, mate," said Ron, opening a door. "G'night, Ginny, glad you're all right. G'night, Hermione."

"Sleep well," Harry said to Ginny.

"Thanks," said Ginny, smiling at him. "Night."

"Good night, Harry, it's wonderful to see you again," said Hermione. "Good night, Ron."

"Night, 'Mione," said Harry as she closed the door behind her.

He looked around the room. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus was gone, but other than that, the room was much the same as it had been last year. Hedwig was on top of the wardrobe again, his trunk was in the corner (one of the twins had probably brought it up when he wasn't paying attention, Harry thought), and there were the same two twin beds. Ron was sitting on one of them, yawning.

"Who else is here?" Harry asked, opening his trunk to look for pajamas and his book.

"Just us at the moment. Lupin said he'd be back tomorrow – today, now – Moody and Tonks and the rest are in and out. Haven't seen Dumbledore or Snape yet, but we only got here a couple days ago. Mum and Dad were Apparating back and forth before then. Harry, what's _that_?"

Harry had just turned around with _Insane Dorm Hall_ in his hand.

"It's called a book, Ron. There are things called words inside and you can read them."

"Very funny. What are you doing with one of _those_?"

"A friend sent me an early birthday present," Harry said, flipping the book open to look for his place. He knew he'd been past Lanie's marathon, Erica's (again) unsuccessful theater audition, and met Edith's new martial arts partner Anna, but he didn't remember reading about a 2 AM Rodgers and Hammerstein singing session, whatever that was. He flipped back a few pages and found it – "Late Night Tea Party".

"Harry?"

He looked up. Ron was looking at the book almost shamefacedly.

"Can I maybe borrow one of them?"

"Sure," Harry said, seeing that Ron had fallen under the same spell he had, the spell of a well-told story. "Want to start with number one?"

"Yeah. _Undecipherable Seminar_ or whatever it's called."

"_Indecipherable_, but you were close." Harry pulled book one out of his cauldron and tossed it to Ron. "Catch."

"Thanks." Ron looked at the cover of the book, then back at Harry. "These are kind of beat up, aren't they? No offense, but they look like something I'd have."

"They were presents. It's the thought that counts. And besides, they're perfectly readable."

"You sound like Mum." Ron stroked the corner of the book. "Who do you know who would send you junk like th..." He trailed off, staring at Harry. "One of the times Hedwig came to the Burrow, Ginny asked her if she'd do an errand. And she hasn't spent any of her pocket money all summer."

"And a prize goes to the perceptive gentleman on the other bed," Harry said, closing _Dorm Hall_. "Is there a problem?"

"No... it's just... what is my sister doing, sending you presents?"

"She's being my friend," Harry snapped. He knew he was overtired and emotionally strained, but he was out of patience. "Or maybe that's something you don't understand."

He knew it was a mistake the minute he said it. Ron went pink and looked at the opposite corner of the room.

"Ron, I'm sorry," Harry said, sitting up. "I didn't mean it."

"I know." Ron was speaking so quietly Harry could barely hear him. "You never do. Neither do I. We both say stupid things sometimes, you know?"

"Two stupid Gryffindors," said Harry, smiling, "and two smart Gryffindor girls who keep them in line. Voldemort hasn't got a chance."

Ron chuckled weakly. "I sure hope not." He turned back to face Harry, his expression confused. "Wait a minute – who are you talking about?"

"Hermione and Ginny," Harry said. "D'you fancy someone else you're not telling me about?"

"I don't fancy Hermione!" Ron was bright red now.

"Maybe that line would work on someone else, Ron. Someone who hasn't been the best friend you both have for five years. Doesn't work on me. You've fancied her since second year, and I think the whole school knows it."

"Well – but – I – you don't fancy Ginny, do you?"

Harry grinned. Ron wasn't trying to deny he liked Hermione any more. "What would you do if I did?"

"I don't know!" Ron took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down. "What are you _supposed_ to do when your best mate says he fancies your sister?"

"I believe the traditional line is, 'I give you my blessing,'" Harry said, deadpan.

Ron goggled at him for a moment, then began to laugh.

"Tell the truth. You think it's a great idea," Harry said.

"Well, yeah," Ron confessed, bringing himself under control. "Always have. She likes you, Harry. And you like her. And you're the right kind of guy for her. You'll listen to her, but you won't let her do really stupid things. And she won't let you do anything stupid either."

"Like getting myself killed?" Harry said quietly, his good mood draining out. "Ron, I'm sorry. I shouldn't even have brought this up. It wouldn't be fair to Ginny, even if she did fancy me."

"What wouldn't be fair?"

"Anything." Harry glanced at the book in his hand. It was fun, entertaining to read, but it wasn't real. It didn't matter. "Voldemort's after me, everyone knows that. He'll probably get me one of these days."

"Ginny knows that," Ron said. "We all do. You think we're afraid to be your friends or something?"

"_Yes_. Look at me, Ron, I'm a walking death trap. I killed Cedric, I killed Sirius – aren't you even a little afraid? Aren't you a little worried that some Death Eater or other might decide to bring his master a little present, like Harry Potter's best friend? Don't you ever think about that?"

Harry realized, too late, that he'd been shouting.

"Actually, yeah, Harry, I do think about that," Ron retorted, starting to color up again. "And I think about some other things too. Like knocking out a mountain troll. Or taking Polyjuice Potion. Watching you win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. Waking up in the lake during your second task. You're the best friend I've ever had, and nothing's going to change that. Not even," Ron crossed his arms defiantly, "_Voldemort._"

"You said it." Harry stared at his friend. "You said his name."

Ron shrugged. "You do it, Hermione does it, I figured it was time I got around to it." His manner changed. He sat down on the bed limply. "Harry, you didn't kill Sirius. Bellatrix Lestrange did. And you didn't kill Cedric either. Pettigrew did that. You were involved, but that was an accident."

"It wasn't an accident that I was at the Department of Mysteries," Harry said bitterly.

"You're right. It wasn't. You made a decision and it was the wrong one. Harry, if you let yourself give up, Voldemort's won already. We might as well go start kissing up to Draco Malfoy."

"You go kiss up to that slug if you like."

Ron chuckled. "I wonder if he still leaves a slime trail behind when he moves."

"Ron, it's my fault. Sirius is dead and it's my fault. _How the hell am I supposed to live with that?!_"

Ron was silent for a moment.

"I don't know, Harry," he admitted. "But I bloody well wish I did."

Ron's candor hit Harry harder than any sympathy could. He felt his face crumpling and knew Ron would be leaving to get Hermione any minute – Ron hated people crying.

But Ron wasn't going away – he was moving closer – he was sitting on Harry's bed.

Hardly realizing what he was doing, Harry put his face on Ron's shoulder and sobbed. He was vaguely aware of a pair of distant thudding sounds, but all he could think of or say was, "It's my fault, it's my fault, Sirius, I'm so sorry," over and over again. He could feel Ron patting him awkwardly on the back.

Moments later, or so it seemed, there were arms around him. Two pairs of arms.

"Time for a different shoulder," said a brisk voice, and Harry looked up and blinked swollen eyes.

"'Lo, Ginny," he said, trying to smile. "'Lo, Hermy."

"You are not an uncivilized giant and you may not call me Hermy," said Hermione, handing him a box of tissues. "But you may continue crying on my somewhat dryer robes, if you'd like."

Harry blew his nose and managed a smile this time. "Maybe later, if the offer still stands then."

"Anytime, Harry," Hermione said, squeezing his arm.

"That goes for me as well," said Ron, who was using the tissues Ginny was handing him to try and dry the sopping shoulder of his robe.

"And me," Ginny said quickly.

"And expect Mum to offer too, she's been worried about you," Ron said, giving up on his shoulder. "Hermione, Ginny, out, I need to change."

"I've seen you naked before," Ginny said, but she went to the door. Hermione followed with a peculiar expression on her face.

"House size of the Burrow with seven kids, no one has any privacy," Ron said, pulling his robes over his head.

"How did you get them in here without leaving me?" Harry asked, after blowing his nose again.

"Chucked my trainers at the wall," Ron said, taking off his undershirt. "They're right next door. You going to bed?"

"I guess I should," Harry said. He started undoing his shirt. "Ron – thanks."

Ron grinned sheepishly. "What else are friends for?"

Harry grinned back. "Ginny said that when she was a cat. Well, she didn't say it, exactly, because she couldn't talk, but she would have said it if she could."

"When did she, er, not say this?"

"When she was sitting on my lap," Harry said, slipping on his pajama pants.

"Ginny sat on your lap?"

"Yeah – I was crying, and she helped me, like you just did. And afterwards, I realized how lucky I was."

"Lucky?" Ron looked apprehensive.

"Yeah. Lucky it wasn't you on my lap instead of her."

Harry just ducked the pillow Ron swung at him, laughing.

In bed, Harry finished his chapter of _Dorm Hall_, while Ron opened _Seminar_ to the first page and began to read, chuckling over the very first sentence. ("Dr. and Mrs. Gorelli, of 3148 Contessa Lane, were proud to say that they were quite unusual, thank you very much.")

"Ron?"

"Yah?"

"Why do you need to borrow my books? Can't you borrow Ginny's?"

"Well – " Ron looked abashed. "Did she tell you what I said about them?"

"Yeah."

"I snitched one, two, and three from her room. When she caught me, I asked if I could _please_ read number four. I was desperate – there's a teaser at the end of three, you'll see. She let me read it through, once – then banned me from ever asking her for them again."

Harry chuckled. "Serves you right."

He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"You do have my blessing. To date Ginny. If you really want to."

"Thanks, mate." Harry yawned. A picture swam into focus in his mind.

Erica Gorelli was curled on a couch, a mug of tea beside her, reading aloud from a book of stories. She looked just like she did on the cover of _Dorm Hall_ – shoulder-length brownish-blond hair, glasses, gray sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers with bright green laces. Anna was sitting on the floor nearby, with Lizzie on the couch above her. Both of them were listening carefully as Lizzie braided Anna's brown hair into cornrows.

Lanie and Edith were also sitting on the floor, with a board game on a low table between them. Edith had a mug of tea next to her as well. Harry recognized Connect 4 from Dudley's childhood. He had actually gotten to play with it some, because Dudley hadn't wanted anything to do with a game that didn't beep or flash at you when you won. Edith appeared to be winning, but that might be because she was paying attention to the game, while Lanie was paying more attention to the story Erica was reading.

The whole scene had the same feeling of peace about it that the best nights Harry could remember from the Gryffindor common room did.

He sat down in one of the big, firm armchairs and began listening to the story himself.

-----

(A/N: Well, technically it's Wednesday now, it being 1:30 AM...

I have GOT to stop doing this, Lanie gripes at me when I type too late right below her bed. Luckily, she's sick now, so she's drugged with Benadryl and she can't hear me. And Lizzie gets so grouchy about homework. That's why I'm a humanities major.

Hope you enjoy this scene. It wasn't exactly fun to write, but I think it reads well. I know Ron's a bit of a wart sometimes, but he knows Harry needs to talk about Sirius and what happened, and this time, he just managed to say the right things in the right order.

CapriceAnn: I reposted because there were a whole bunch of little things I needed to fix, and I figured the fastest way was to repost. Sorry. But you did find it again, obviously...

Please encourage friends to read this. I know there's a lot of sixth year fics out there, but I hope to make this one of the best. And also the most interesting.)


	6. The Dream

Chapter 6: The Dream

Harry felt sleepy, which was odd, because he knew he was already asleep and dreaming. He must be.

Carrington College, where he was comfortably curled up in a gray armchair, didn't really exist, after all. Neither did the girls sharing the room with him, who were oblivious to his presence: Erica Gorelli, the heroine of a book series sweeping the wizarding world, and some of her best friends, Lizzie Hertzfeld, Lanie Connor, Anna Schmidt, and Edith Lee.

But it didn't matter. He was having a good dream, and he was willing to sacrifice a lot to keep it that way. Feeling sleepy was not a problem at all.

Fran Anderson came in through one of the swinging doors of the lounge where the girls were relaxing and leaned on the back of the couch, listening to the story Erica was reading aloud. She was the resident advisor of the insane dorm hall that the third Erica Gorelli book was named after. As far as Harry could tell, RA was a position much like prefect, and a dorm hall was something like a Hogwarts house, except quite a lot smaller.

Fran was a new character in the third book, but she was very important already. She was the leader the girls had been looking for through books one and two, and Harry was beginning to see why the reviewer in the _Daily Prophet_ had said book three was probably the best, although all four released to date were good. The fun in the hallway never seemed to stop, and Fran, supposedly the figure of authority, was in the thick of it most of the time.

Harry found himself comparing her to Percy Weasley, but somehow he couldn't picture Percy dancing in the hallway at midnight or starting a wet paper towel fight in the bathroom.

Fran's best friend, Rose Egree, was also a new character in book three. She was a musician, like Edith and Erica herself, but unlike Edith, a cellist, and Erica, a singer, Rose played piano and clarinet. She had a sweet personality and a laugh that most closely resembled the sound of a very small dog being sat upon. The girls loved to knock on her door and claim they were calling the SPCA to report her for cruelty to animals.

Harry yawned. Erica's voice blurred in his ears. It reminded him of Hermione's voice, he noticed dimly. Of course, Erica had an American accent, but they still sounded quite a lot alike...

Lizzie's red hair was catching the light oddly. He could have sworn he saw Lanie with red hair too, but he knew hers was brown...

And Edith's hair _was_ black, but it was usually long and glossy, like Cho Chang's. Now it looked short and rumpled, like...

...like Harry's own, he realized from a long way off. He tried to open his eyes to get a better look, but they were dragging shut. As he watched Edith move her hand to drop a checker into the board, he felt his own arm lift, and for a moment he felt the slick plastic edge of the checker in his hand, before his eyes closed completely...

-----

Harry shook his head, wondering why he had been thinking it was odd to feel a checker in his hand. Of course there was a checker in his hand. He was playing Connect 4 with Ron, and he was just about to spring his brilliant trap that would force Ron to give him the victory.

At least, he would do that as soon as Ron noticed the game rather than the story Hermione was reading aloud, while Ginny combed her hair out for her...

"Ron?"

"Uh?"

"Your move."

"Oh. Sorry." Ron turned around and examined the board, then smoothly slid a black checker into one of the seven slots.

It was not the move Harry had wanted him to make.

Annoyed, Harry dropped his red checker into a random file on the other side of the board.

Ron grinned. "Four in a row. I win."

He shot his black piece home, finishing a diagonal line of four, and Harry groaned. He'd fallen for a set-up of Ron's, while trying to set Ron up himself. To make matters worse, it was the same set-up Ron had used in one of their earlier games, not ten minutes ago.

"What does that make, five times running?" Hermione asked, looking up from the book. "Harry, why don't you just admit you'll never beat him?"

"Because I will," Harry said, raising his right hand as if swearing to something. "I make that my life's goal from this moment onwards. I hereby vow that someday I will beat Ronald Weasley in a game of Connect 4!"

Ginny, Hermione, and Ron laughed, and Harry felt a strange kind of dizziness. For a moment, there seemed to be two Harry Potters, each with his own idea of where he belonged and what he could do... and it felt as if they were fighting, one insisting that this existence, here, at Carrington College was only a dream, and the other...

The feeling faded. Harry came back to reality. Of course Carrington wasn't a dream. He was a first-year student, a freshman, here, just like Ron and Ginny and Hermione, though the school year technically hadn't started yet.

Ginny was a year younger than the rest of them, so by rights they should have been sophomores to her freshman, but the three of them had been able to wait a year for her to finish attending... wherever it was they'd all gone to school... before coming to America and taking Carrington up on four full-scholarship offers.

Still feeling rattled by the idea of his life being a dream, Harry checked his pocket for his student ID. Yes, there it was, "Harry James Potter" with his seven-digit ID number, his signature, and his picture grinning up at him. But he looked too old...

No, that was the dream talking. He looked nineteen, just as old as he was. Ron was nineteen too, and Hermione would be in a couple of weeks, and Ginny had just recently turned eighteen...

Ginny. His lovely girlfriend. Soon, he hoped, his lovely fiancée. He knew the legal age of adulthood in America was 18, so he could ask Ginny to marry him any time he wanted, but he wanted to make the proposal special. He wanted them to be able to remember that magical night all their lives.

The dream Harry stirred again, as if at a trigger word. _You can't ask Ginny to marry you! You don't know if she likes you! You've never even held her hand, or kissed her..._

Harry rubbed his forehead, feeling the familiar scar beneath his fingertips. That was simply ridiculous. He and Ginny had been together for three years. They had first held hands at Halloween, in his sixth year and her fifth at... their old school... and first kissed around Christmastime. He was very much in love with her, and sure that she returned the favor whole-heartedly. And he even knew that her parents approved.

_I'll ask Fran for some ideas. She's good with that kind of thing._

As if thinking of her had summoned her, Fran Anderson, their hall's RA, came in through the swinging doors on her rounds of the Rivers residence complex. "Bed for freshies," she said in a mock-scolding tone. "It's past two. Come on, get going..." And when they didn't get up fast enough to suit her, she snatched a pillow from one of the couches and began swiping at them with it. "Shoo, shoo, bed, now!"

Laughing, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny fled from the pillow-swinging RA, down the hall, around the corner, down the stairs, and through the swinging doors into their own hallway, painted white from waist height up and bright green below. The bottom color varied from hall to hall, so that one could tell where in the enormous Rivers complex one was without looking out the window.

The first door on the left had four names posted around the door – a quad. The names were all imposing ones like Gwylan, but Fran had said the girls who lived there were very friendly. But there was no time to think about that, because Fran had just arrived on the scene in person, pillow still in hand, and the only way to escape her was to get to their own rooms.

Hermione and Ginny nipped in the second door on the left, and Harry and Ron just made it through the third before Fran reached them.

Breathing a little hard, Harry surveyed the room, and his dream-feeling came back, stronger, insisting that he'd never seen it before and he didn't belong here, and that the posters on the wall, like the one of Puddlemere United football team, signed by Harry's old school teammate, goalkeeper Oliver Wood, were wrong somehow...

Harry sat down on his bed and closed his eyes. _Fran was right. It's late and we need sleep._

"Harry? You all right?"

Harry opened his eyes and smiled briefly at Ron. "I'm fine. Just tired. You going to bed?"

-----

As he brushed his teeth in the common bathroom up the hall, Harry's thoughts returned to the quad at the end of the hallway. Fran had said one of the girls who lived there sang in the college choirs, and she was going to ask that girl to help Harry and his friends with their choir auditions.

_I doubt I'll make it. I've never really sung at all._ But Ginny wanted to sing, and she was afraid to go out for the choirs alone, so she had asked – begged, really – Harry, Ron, and Hermione to try out with her. Hermione had agreed straight off, bullied Ron into saying yes, and then the three of them had worked on Harry as a team until he agreed as well.

_At least we had some time to prepare._ Word had it that the Carrington choir director demanded that his choirs be able to sight-sing – sing music directly from the sheet, without ever hearing it. This, of course, required that one be able to read music, which none of the four had been able to do a year ago.

_It was nice to finally find something Hermione couldn't do faster than everyone else..._

To everyone's surprise, including his own, Ron had been the one with the hidden talent for music. Notes and rests and time signatures, the lines and spaces of the staff, sharps and flats and keys and pitches, all made sense to him faster than to anyone else. He had even started experimenting with playing the piano at Harry's house, since the Burrow didn't have one.

Harry and Ginny had learned at about equal rates behind Ron, becoming decently proficient by Christmas time. It was a bit more impressive for Ginny, since she was juggling a full school schedule as well, while Harry had very little else to do.

Hermione had trailed them both for a time, until she got over the shock of not being the best at everything, reaching an acceptable level of skill only just in time to sing Ron "Happy Birthday". Her sense of rhythm was very sure, but she still had trouble with accurate pitch.

_Whereas Ron has perfect pitch..._ That had been another of the surprises of the music lessons. Ron could tell, with his eyes shut, what any note was, whether it was played on an instrument, sung, or produced by something completely different. Harry had told him flatly he was going too far when Ron announced that the toilets in the house flushed in A-flat.

Harry wondered idly what key the toilets here flushed in. _I could ask. Now's a perfect time..._

_Nah, I'm not really that interested._

Harry's guardian Remus had helped them a lot in their musical work. _I had no idea he played. Or that my dad and mum or Sirius had, for that matter..._ Harry's father had played the oboe and his mother the mandolin, while his godfather Sirius had been a drummer. Harry was more interested in something he could play to accompany a singer, so he was planning to ask Fran's musical friend if she knew anything about guitar classes.

_A singer? Be honest, Harry. You want to accompany Ginny._ Putting the basket with his toiletries back on his dresser, Harry smiled at the photograph of Ginny, hanging in pride of place on his wall. She had developed a lovely high singing voice, what Remus called soprano. Hermione was a high alto, Ron a tenor, and Harry a baritone, or high bass.

_I wouldn't mind accompanying Ron or Hermione, though. Or even myself, if I ever get good. Maybe we could learn to sing together..._

"G'night," said Ron, flipping off his bedside lamp.

"Night."

Harry climbed into bed and turned off his own light. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts swirled dreamily around a recitation.

_Harry James Potter, room 113, Gardner Hall, Rivers Complex, Carrington College..._

-----

Harry opened his eyes slowly. Ron was snoring in the other twin bed, but that wasn't the sound that had awakened him.

Somewhere in number 12, Grimmauld Place, someone was playing the violin.

-----

(A/N: Hope you like it. I know it's kind of long on exposition, but I hope I kept it enjoyable and readable...

Thanks Caprice-Ann for being my most faithful Resonance reviewer so far!

Thanks also to any new R&Rers! If you like it, tell your friends, if not, tell your enemies!)


	7. Lament

(A/N: Kudos to Lady Alchymia and Jeconais, both on my Favorite Authors list, for inspiring me to put music in Harry Potter's world. Thanks a million! Your fics rule!)

Chapter 7: Lament

Harry got up and put his glasses on, listening. He could almost name the piece... he knew he'd heard it before. It had a processional feeling, and he could remember stepping carefully on the notes, on the beats... but when had he ever been in a procession?

Abruptly he had it. His primary school graduation. The Dursleys hadn't seen any reason to ban him from that, since it didn't cost anything, and Dudley had to go anyway. So Harry had walked down the aisle with the rest of his class, and this was the song they had entered to.

Even as he remembered it, the song moved into the quick portion, swooping gracefully up and down. Harry grinned, remembering how Dudley, in rehearsals, had tried to take a step on every note of this part and ended up running down four smaller children before the teachers got him stopped.

He went out into the hallway and stopped, confused. The music was quieter outside the room than in it – in fact, he could barely hear it in the hall. That didn't make any sense.

He went back in the room and listened again. His foot itched, and he sat down on his bed to scratch it.

The music got louder.

Curious, Harry knelt on the floor and put his ear to the boards.

He smiled. Whoever was playing, was doing so in the room directly below his own.

He padded down the stairs in bare feet, noticing that the music had completely faded by the time he reached the top of the stairs. _Hmm... stairs are there, hall is here... I think this is the one._

He knocked at the door of a small room he didn't remember from last summer. After a moment, it opened. Remus Lupin was behind it, wand in one hand and violin bow in the other.

"Hey, Moony," said Harry, grinning. "Long time."

"Harry!" Lupin's face lit up, and he hurried to put down the two valuable pieces of wood carefully and offer Harry his hand. "I heard you were here, but I thought you'd still be asleep..."

"Well, not with someone playing beautiful music right below my bedroom, I wasn't," Harry said, pointing at the violin carefully laid on what looked like a curved wooden table in the room.

"You heard me?" Lupin looked chagrined. "I thought I put Silencers on this room... oh, I forgot the ceiling again, didn't I? It's my worst failing, when I get a chance to play I forget even the most basic courtesies..."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, coming into the room. "It was a great way to wake up. I didn't know you played."

"My mother taught me," Lupin said, taking his violin off what Harry could now see was a piano. "And my father taught me how to hide it. That was one of the things I used the Marauders' Map for, finding private places to practice. I had two charms on my violin – one made it audible only to me, and the other one made it look like a scroll, so if anyone walked in on me, they would think I was just reading over my homework with one end tucked under my chin..."

He demonstrated, showing Harry how the violin fit against his collarbone, then paused, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I don't suppose you'd care to hear any more?"

"Are you kidding? That's why I came down," Harry said, relieved that he didn't have to ask if he could stay. "What was that piece you were playing when I knocked?"

"Pachelbel's _Canon._ It's an old favorite. Any memories for you?"

"Just primary school graduation. One of the very few normal childhood things the Dursleys didn't stop me doing."

Lupin looked at Harry musingly. "There is a question I've been wanting to ask you, Harry, about your relatives. Perhaps later, after breakfast – or rather brunch, it's nearly eleven – we can talk?"

Harry nodded. In truth, he would have agreed to a friendly lunch with Draco Malfoy if it meant Lupin would play for him.

Lupin lifted his bow and began.

The swift, darting melody lifted Harry and swept him away. He had never been exposed to music much, and certainly he had never seen anyone who loved music perform before. Now he could see the quiet rapture on Lupin's face as he moved through an intricate passage, and he felt a great longing to share that rapture.

_Maybe learning to sing wouldn't be so bad,_ Harry thought, and wondered vaguely why he should think about singing. He had never been in a choir, never bothered much about music class in school. What did singing have to do with him?

Something about a dream...

Lupin finished a passage and paused. Harry's recollection fled.

"I wonder if I might share something with you, Harry," Lupin said quietly.

Harry got the feeling that this was something Lupin had never shared with anyone before. He nodded, and Lupin put down the violin, picked up his wand, and shut the door with it, then cast a Silencing Charm on each wall, the floor, and (with a wry look at Harry) the ceiling. He swapped wand for bow again and set the violin.

"This is something I wrote myself, very recently," he said. "I think you'll understand."

The music this time was low and wailing, not the full long notes of the Canon but wavering, incomplete sounds that always seemed to go somewhere other than where Harry thought they would. It was bewildered and pain-filled and lost, and yet it always managed to keep going, until finally it worked itself up to a high note, cried there for a few moments, and descended slowly, finishing on a quavering, long-drawn-out sound that seemed somehow wondering.

Slowly, Lupin lowered his bow.

"What is that?" Harry whispered, though he already knew the answer.

"I call it _Lament for Sirius_," said Lupin, setting the violin aside and meeting Harry's eyes. Slowly, almost questioningly, he opened his arms. "We knew him best, Harry. Perhaps we can grieve together."

Harry felt his throat close. It seemed too good to be true – someone who was _asking_ him to cry for Sirius, not just putting up with it. He would have refused, except that in Lupin's eyes he saw something akin to his own grief, and he couldn't help himself.

He pulled his glasses off and threw them onto the piano. They bounced off – he heard them hit the floor and smash – and he didn't care. He flung himself into Lupin's arms, sobbing.

Ginny and Ron and Hermione had comforted him, but they had been outside his grief, not part of it. Now he had someone who could cry with him, who _was_ crying with him. Harry felt Lupin's shoulders shaking, felt warm wet drops on his own shoulders. Crying on Ron's shoulder had felt awkward, but this didn't. It felt...

... it felt like having a father, Harry decided, and then he lost himself in tears again.

When they were both at the shaky breathing stage, Lupin conjured a box of tissues, and they sat together on the couch and talked.

"I think I feel worst about the years I lost with him," Lupin said, wiping his eyes. "Even counting the time since his escape, I knew him as my friend barely longer than I knew him as a traitor and the reason your parents died. I feel so guilty about believing the lies. I feel as if I should have known better, I should have seen that Sirius couldn't possibly have done it..."

"Got you beat," Harry countered. They had begun a macabre game of _I-can-feel-worse-than-you-can_. "I killed him. I killed Sirius. Maybe I didn't push him through the veil, but I'm the bloody reason he was there in the first place..."

"You were tricked by Voldemort," Lupin said angrily. "Just as I was tricked, we were all tricked, by his flunky I once called a friend. You are not the cause, Harry. Voldemort is the cause."

"Well, maybe I'm not the cause, but I sure as hell helped along the way!" Harry shouted, glad that the room was soundproofed. "If I hadn't gone to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius would still be alive!"

"If you hadn't gone to the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort would have found some other way to get at you," Lupin said. "He excels at that. He finds the weaknesses in our natures and plays us against each other. He knew two things about you, Harry, and one of them I'm not sure that you know yet. He knew that you loved Sirius, and he knew that until this June, you had never yet been wrong."

"Never been wrong?" Harry repeated blankly. "I don't understand."

Lupin held up his hand and touched his pointer finger. "Hear me out, Harry. In your first year, when most Muggle-raised wizards are still trying to comprehend that magic exists, you discovered a plot to steal a precious magical artifact, warned Minerva McGonagall about it, and when she disregarded you, you and Ron and Hermione saved it anyway."

Middle finger. "In your second year, you and Ron tried to give Gilderoy Lockhart the information he needed, then when he proved untrustworthy and even dangerous, you still defeated a pair of deadly foes and saved many innocent lives."

Ring finger. "Third year. You tried to save Sirius by telling Cornelius Fudge the truth, but when he wouldn't believe you, you and Hermione broke laws left and right by going back in time. You stole a condemned hippogriff and a condemned man from the law, and you cast a Patronus Charm that I doubt has ever been surpassed, possibly ever even equaled."

Little finger. "Fourth year. You held your own in a tournament designed for students three years more advanced than you, then you dueled Voldemort, wand-to-wand, and returned alive – and the general public refused to believe your story."

"I know what I've done," Harry said, annoyed. "Your point?"

"My point, Harry, is that every one of your adventures was accomplished against the odds, in the face of disbelief, and you were successful every time. This pattern had led you to believe that you were invincible and infallible – don't interrupt me – "

Harry had jumped to his feet, but sank back onto the couch, furious and yet unwillingly comprehending.

" – you believed this unconsciously, but you believed it, and so did your friends. Most teenagers believe it of themselves at some point. Unfortunately, with your tendency to get into trouble of the life-threatening kind, you can't afford to think that any more."

Harry had never noticed the gray in Lupin's hair or his wrinkles quite so keenly as now. The man looked old, far older than a contemporary of Harry's own father should, and Harry suddenly wondered, through a sullen anger that didn't want to acknowledge the truth in Lupin's words, how much of that was due to lycanthropy, and how much to fighting evil no man should have to face...

"Harry, you are brave and intelligent and strong, but you can make mistakes. You made one in June. And yes, partly – _partly_ – because of you, Sirius is dead."

Harry was astonished to feel a sudden surge of gratitude toward Lupin for not sugarcoating the facts.

_I _was_ involved. I _am_ partly to blame._

Logically, the thought should have made him feel worse, but accepting part of the blame, Harry realized, meant he didn't have to take it all...

"His death will have one positive effect, and only one. You will never accept things at face value again. You will always probe, always suspect a trap. This is good, a valuable ability, but – "

Lupin's eyes closed for a moment, pressing back tears, Harry was sure.

" – _God_, how I wish you could have learned some other way!"

The words could have been hurtful and accusatory. Instead, the naked pain in them was twin to Harry's own.

He found himself in Lupin's embrace again. He was crying, if it was possible, harder than before, crying for two losses – for Sirius, and for the idealistic boy who had been so sure he could never lose a battle.

Somehow, he was sure Lupin felt both losses as keenly as he did, and was crying for them both.

When they finally ran out of tears, it was closer to noon than eleven, and Harry was hungry. Toast with Ginny at 4:30 in the morning was fun, but seven and a half hours later, he was ready for a meal.

"So what's for lunch?" he asked.

Lupin wiped his face one last time and blew his nose. "Molly and Arthur went out earlier – Arthur on Order business, Molly to do some shopping, she said – so we'll have to scrounge. I heard about toast-making this morning, did you eat all the bread?"

"I think there was some left," Harry said dubiously, starting to look around for his glasses, "but it won't feed everyone. Ron and Hermione and Ginny should be up soon. And the twins – or are they out too?"

"Yes, they're out at the shop," Lupin said, putting his violin away in its case. "We'll have to get you there somehow, it's amazing."

Harry had found his glasses on the floor. One lens was shattered. "Can you give me a hand here?"

"_Oculis Reparo_," said Lupin distractedly, pointing his wand Harry's way, and the lens reassembled itself in the frame. "So, I suppose if there's no sandwich materials in the house, we're left with the one alternative of bachelors everywhere."

He unsealed the door and led the way to the kitchen.

"Do you happen to know what your friends like on their pizza?"

-----

(A/N: Well, it probably will be Wednesday by the time this posts, and since I have it done...

Sigh. Having slightly sad week. Reviews cheer me up and make me write more and update before schedule, you know...

MackenzieW: Thanks! Here ya go!

Basketballer33: Thanks for the compliments... and I've given up typing till 2. The concussions I get when Lanie drops her o-chem book on my head are bad for me.

Caprice-Ann HedicanKocur: Yeah, kind of a wish fulfillment thing. He sees the insanely normal (or normally insane) world of the books and wishes he could have that, and since in dreams you can actually get what you want... Expect more dreams in future chapters. Harry's gonna need the relaxation, and he might learn a thing or two.

Thanks everyone! See you on Saturday, or Friday if you're a Home reader!)


	8. Discoveries

Chapter 8: Discoveries

"Extra cheese for me," Harry said, remembering stolen slices from Dudley's pizza parties, "and I think Hermione likes ham and mushrooms. But I don't know about Ron and Ginny. I'm not even sure they've ever had pizza."

"High time, then, don't you think?" Lupin flicked on the light in the basement kitchen with his wand.

Harry suddenly realized part of what felt different about the house. He sat down, leaned back in his chair, and tried to sound casual. "So, where's Kreacher?"

Lupin looked grim, and Harry knew his attempt to seem offhand hadn't worked. "Hogwarts. Tonks gave him the sock after she got out of St. Mungo's. Dumbledore's having the other house-elves keep an eye on him, and one of the free house-elves there has been coming back and forth to give us a hand here. Talks a lot about you, as a matter of fact."

_Me? Oh no..._ "Let me guess. Dobby."

Lupin snapped his fingers. "So close..."

_Not Dobby? What other free house-elves do I know?_ "Oh. What's her face – Winky. She used to be the Crouches' elf. Right?"

"That's the one. She's due this afternoon, as a matter of fact, so hide anything you don't want ruthlessly cleaned. Now, back to lunch. There's five of us, four teenagers and a hungry werewolf, so I think we'll likely need three. What do you think of one regular, one extra-cheese, and one with half pepperoni, half ham and mushroom?"

Harry nodded. "Sounds good. Better give Ron and Ginny a chance to get used to it before we throw too many toppings at them. How are we going to get it?"

"I'll go out and order it. The shop's just around the corner from here. It shouldn't take too long – 20 minutes or so, I'd guess. I'll wait there and bring it back when it's done."

"Won't you get bored?"

"No, I have a book I'm rather interested in at the moment. I'll take it along. Perhaps you could do me a favor, Harry, and wake the others. I've seen Ron around food, and I'd rather have him alert so he doesn't try eating anything else."

Harry grinned. "He did once try to eat his plate at breakfast. But we'd been up all night studying for Potions, and I wasn't much better."

Lupin chuckled. "You didn't by any chance get a picture?"

"I only wish."

"When was this?"

"Last year sometime." Something triggered in Harry's mind. "One of Ron's letters said something about Umbridge. She left her job?"

"Yes, she's on leave of absence from the Ministry. The official story is that she was traumatized by an unfortunate incident with centaurs and needs time off to recuperate. Percy Weasley's been promoted in her place. He, by the way, still refuses to communicate with his parents."

Harry looked at the floor. He didn't know if Lupin knew what he, Harry, had seen the previous night. "Thanks. For telling me, I mean."

"You're quite welcome. Now let me see..." Lupin opened the pantry door. "I know we have Muggle money around here somewhere... ah, here it is. This ought to be enough."

Harry followed him up the stairs again to the music room, where Lupin dug through his bag, coming up with a thick red paperback. "I'll see you in about half an hour, Harry. I'd appreciate if you'd watch for me, it's tricky business opening a door when you're carrying large boxes. And you know this already, but don't leave the house. It's not safe."

"Yes, sir!" Harry mock-saluted, earning a smile from Lupin.

Harry saw the older man off, Lupin shutting the front door quietly to avoid setting off the portraits in the hallway. Then he hurried upstairs. He, too, was planning to pass the time until Lupin returned with a book. But first he had to wake the others. Including the girls.

An interesting prospect, to be sure.

_Yeah, right._

Interesting in the same way a Blast-Ended Skrewt was interesting. From a safe distance. And in this case, that meant hearing about it while someone else actually did it.

_Come on, Harry. You're a Gryffindor. Prove it. Be a man._

Harry swallowed hard and knocked lightly on the door.

"Hermione? Ginny?"

No answer.

_They must still be asleep._

Harry knocked again.

Still no answer.

_Give me a break!_ said the side of Harry's mind that sometimes seemed to have Ron's voice attached to it. _They're just girls. What is the big deal about going in and waking them up?_

Harry didn't have a good answer. So he did something that he knew was stupid.

He opened the door.

Ginny was in the bed nearer to him. She was lying on her side, slightly curled up, with her hair spread out behind her. Harry was struck by how vulnerable, and how dangerous, she looked, all at once. And how sweet and appealing.

_I think I may, just possibly, fancy her. But I'm not sure. _

_And I don't know if she likes me at all, other than as a friend._

_Have to be careful about this._

The other bed appeared to have been attacked by a brown-haired monster during the night. Hermione was tangled in her bedsheets with one hand at her –

_I did NOT just see that._

Harry hastily (and quietly) shut the door.

_I did not see that. _

_I will never tell anyone that I saw that._

He knocked loudly on the door.

"Ginny! Hermione! Time to get up!" he called.

"Is not," Ginny mumbled. Or words to that effect.

"Professor Lupin went out to get pizza and if you don't get up, Ron and I get to eat it all!"

"Pizza?" That was Hermione. "I'm up. Come on, Ginny, pizza."

"What's pizza?"

Harry went to wake Ron. His mind was still spinning over what he had seen.

_Hermione Granger, brain extraordinaire, sucks her thumb._

-----

Ron took some time to rouse, and more time to convince that flat bread, spread with tomato sauce and cheese, was really a type of food and not one of Fred and George's pranks. Lupin had been gone for almost 15 minutes when a dressed Harry, _Insane Dorm Hall_ in his hand, came quietly down the stairs again and went into the front room. There was a window seat, and he established himself in it.

_Now, where was I?_

He found his place and began reading. _Yes, a Rodgers and Hammerstein 2 AM singing session, I remember wondering about that..._

Rodgers and Hammerstein turned out to be a lyricist and composer team who had written some very successful musical comedies. Harry found he knew a few of the songs that were mentioned, and even caught himself humming "Do-Re-Mi". Erica, Lanie, and Rose had been singing lustily to Rose's keyboard accompaniment when Fran knocked on the door and reminded them (in the politest way possible) that it was 2 o'clock in the morning and people were trying to sleep.

_Oops._ Harry smirked. _Too bad for them. _

_Hogwarts would be perfect for a late-night singing session. Just Silencio the walls and no one would ever know. _

He thought of Lupin. _And the floor and ceiling, of course. I can just imagine us, singing away, when in pops Filch because we forgot to charm the floor..._

The idea of Argus Filch, Hogwarts' unpopular caretaker, discovering a musical group in the middle of the night was quite funny. As long as Harry didn't put himself among the members of that group. He had been very close to being disciplined by Filch once, but Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had convinced Peeves the Poltergeist to make some trouble to draw Filch away (never difficult, as Peeves loved annoying Filch), and Harry had gotten off.

_Peeves loved annoying Umbridge, too._

The thought was unwanted, but once it arrived, it refused to go away. Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, last year's Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and one of the people Harry disliked most in the world, was firmly ensconced in his thoughts.

He looked at the back of his right hand. The words "I must not tell lies" were traced across the back in thin white scar lines. The handwriting was his own.

Umbridge had given him detention several times over the course of the year. His punishment had always been the same – writing those five words with a magical quill, which carved the words into his skin as he wrote them on the paper. He had never told anyone about it except Ron and Hermione.

_Wait a minute._ Harry had just remembered something odd. Fred and George had left Hogwarts very dramatically, flying off into the sunset, after causing Umbridge a boatload of trouble. _But they wouldn't have left if they hadn't been ready to start their shop. _

_And they weren't ready until they got the Fever Fudge right. They used essence of murtlap in it... Lee Jordan told them about that... And I told him about it, after Hermione gave it to me to soak my hand in, after detention with Umbridge..._

_I wonder what Umbridge would say if she knew she had helped Fred and George? In a very odd and roundabout kind of way, of course, but still..._

The thought of Umbridge's toady face if she had found out that she had assisted the official Hogwarts troublemakers in starting their joke shop amused Harry greatly.

Suddenly remembering why he was in the window seat, he looked at his watch. _Lupin should be back any minute._

He looked out the window. The weather seemed undecided, not completely overcast but not sunny either. There were a few people on the street; none of them were Remus Lupin.

But one of them was Dolores Jane Umbridge.

Harry stared. _This is impossible._

Impossible or not, there she was, wide and ugly face just as he remembered it, blue bow in her hair, wearing a rather incongruous Muggle blouse and slacks. She was walking along, frowning at the houses as she passed them.

_I have to find out what she's up to._

_Maybe, with the Invisibility Cloak... but I have to hurry. She won't stick around long._

He vaulted off the seat and raced upstairs as quietly as he could. Ron was in the bathroom, luckily, so there was no one around to ask embarrassing questions. He pulled the Cloak out of his trunk, fastened it on, and hurried back down the stairs and into the room.

She was still on the street. He couldn't believe his luck.

_She'll never know I'm behind her. I can follow her and listen in on anything she says... I can get her back for everything she did to me... She'll come to heel for me... I'll really make her pay..._

His hand was on the doorknob when another voice echoed in his head. Lupin's.

_You will never accept things at face value again. You will always probe, always suspect a trap... _

_Don't leave the house. It's not safe..._

Harry looked down at his hand on the doorknob as if it belonged to someone else. The thin lines across the back of it suddenly flared with pain, and he felt a sharp stab of exasperation.

Very slowly, Harry took his hand off the doorknob. _This is not normal._

He had felt pain and emotion coupled like that before, but never in his hand – the pain had always been in his forehead, in his lightning-bolt scar...

_When I was connected to Voldemort, connected by the curse and the blood he took from me..._

_Blood. That quill of Umbridge's drew blood. She has all those sheets of lines I wrote in my own blood. And I have the scars from that quill._

He did not like the direction of his thoughts at all.

_In her office that night, when my scar hurt and my stomach felt odd... what if she was trying to establish some kind of link between us? What if _she_ can get into my head now?_

Harry shuddered. He wanted Umbridge in his mind less than he wanted Voldemort, if such a thing were possible.

_I wonder if this is what happened to Ginny. She said she had no idea why she followed Percy. And they have a blood connection. Maybe he cast a spell like this on her, and she had no defenses..._

A scuffling noise from the other side of the door caught Harry's attention, and he remembered why he had been in the front room in the first place. He pulled the door open.

Lupin entered, carrying three pizza boxes carefully in his arms. He frowned at the place where Harry apparently wasn't.

"Oops," Harry said, recalling the Cloak. "Sorry." He pulled it off.

Lupin raised his eyebrows with an _I'm-sure-there's-a-perfectly-good-explanation-for-this_ look.

"In the kitchen?" Harry asked quietly, pointing at the velvet curtains. Lupin nodded, and Harry led the way, opening the doors so Lupin could get through with his load and deposit it on the kitchen table.

"Something very scary just happened," Harry said, and recounted first exactly what had occurred, as nearly as he could recall it, and then what he surmised. He had to backtrack a bit, as he had never told Lupin, or indeed, any adult, about Umbridge's detentions. Lupin sank into a chair with an astounded look on his face when Harry described the quill. By the time he had seen Harry's hand, the look had changed to anger.

"So do you think I might be right?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It seems very likely."

"Bloody great," Harry said heavily. "Just what I needed. Another sadistic maniac who wants to invade my mind."

"Forewarned is forearmed, Harry. This makes it imperative. You must start Occlumency lessons again as soon as possible."

"With who?"

"Probably Severus again. I know, I know – " Lupin held up his hand as Harry started to protest. "You don't like him. I don't like him either. And he ejected you from his office and told you never to come back. What was it he threw at you? A jar of maggots?"

"Cockroaches."

"You can understand why he was angry. You had seen the one thing he most wanted you not to see."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't know everything," Harry said angrily. "He should have shown that to me right off. That memory of his, that did in five minutes what he didn't manage in five years. It showed me the truth about my dad. He was an arrogant bullying little sod just like my damn cousin..."

He trailed off, not wanting to say the rest.

"And you saw Snape in the position you know far too well. The victim, the prey of the bully." Lupin sighed. "Harry, I want you to write down just what you've told me here. Without the profanity, and in a little more detail. And I want you to send it to Professor Snape. I think he needs to know this."

"No," Harry said flatly.

"We can discuss it later," Lupin said mildly as a series of thumping noises on the stairs heralded the arrival of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, looking hungry.

Ron fell in love with pizza from his first bite, but as Hermione said, "Ron, you've never met a food you didn't like."

"So true," Ginny said absently, holding her slice of pizza in one hand and her book – _Erica Gorelli and the Costume of Doom_ – in the other. Erica was on the cover as usual, this time in the company of several other young women, all wearing pink or purple concoctions that looked like something out of the Arabian Nights. Their hair was in cornrows, and they had elaborate and colorful eye makeup that swirled onto their cheeks. The whole effect was either amusing or disturbing, Harry couldn't decide which.

He looked down at _Insane Dorm Hall_, open in his lap. Erica was discovering that an entire semester with nothing but classes in her major could be a drawback when all her professors set papers that came due at the same time. Harry sympathized. He, too, had often thought that his professors held secret meetings to synchronize their homework loads.

Hermione, too, was eating with one hand. She was reading – no surprise – and her book looked similar to Lupin's. Both were fat paperbacks, though Lupin's was larger. Hermione's was bound in gray, Lupin's in red, but the pattern was the same, and the polite letters on the covers looked much the same, though Harry couldn't read them from across the table.

Ron, like Harry, was eating with one hand in his lap and staring persistently downwards. Harry suspected he had _Indecipherable Seminar_ under there.

Hermione tried to turn a page without using her greasy hand and dropped her book. It fell under the table.

"I'll get it," Harry volunteered.

He slid under the table, ignoring Hermione's panicked "No, it's all right, Harry, I can do it..."

As Harry had suspected, the small letters on the cover of the book spelled out _Erica Gorelli and the Hyperactive Actor_.

"So have you found out who the Hyperactive Actor is yet?" he asked as he emerged.

Hermione scowled at him. "No, I haven't. I only got it yesterday. So don't tell me..." She trailed off as she realized what she was saying. "How do you know who the Hyperactive Actor is?"

Harry grinned and held up his copy of _Dorm Hall._ "Early birthday present from a friend. I'm really enjoying them. How do you like them?"

Hermione smiled back, looking relieved. "I think they're great."

"You know my opinion," Ginny said, stroking the spine of her book affectionately.

"Me too," Ron said, turning pink at Ginny's look. "I'm borrowing Harry's, Gin, I swear I haven't touched yours!"

"Since this seems to be a moment of discoveries..." Lupin said, sliding his book into the center of the table. Everyone leaned in to look at it.

The small, neat words _Erica Gorelli and the Costume of Doom_ looked back at them.

Ginny looked thrilled. "Oh, have you gotten to the part where Erica has to try it on yet?"

"Yes, I'm just past that."

"Isn't it _great_?"

"Highly amusing." Lupin smiled as if recalling a favorite joke. "Adult bindings, Hermione?"

Hermione ducked her head slightly. "Well, I didn't want _everyone_ to see," she said in a small voice.

"Adult bindings, Professor?" Ron asked, looking confused.

"There are some adult wizards and witches who want to read books like these – children's books – without being embarrassed. Flourish and Blotts can enchant the binding of the book to make it look more, shall we say, respectable. The friend who bought me these had that enchantment put on them. Now, for today's lesson."

"Lesson?" asked Harry.

"Ron has stated that I'm your Professor, therefore I'm allowed to set lessons. And today's lesson is a very special word. You might even call it magical. Repeat after me: Ree."

"Ree," everyone repeated.

"Muss."

"Muss."

"Now say both parts together."

"Ree, Muss," Harry said. "Ree –"

He slapped himself on the forehead as Lupin cracked up at the looks on their faces.

"You want us to call you by your first name?" Ginny looked a little awestruck.

"If you can't manage that, you can always use Moony. Harry's already done it once. It shouldn't be too hard for a talented group like yourselves." Lupin – _no, Remus_ – gazed around at them. His expression was calm, but Harry had a feeling that Moony the Marauder wasn't very far below that bland exterior.

His instinct was confirmed when Remus added, "And just to make sure, the next time one of you calls me sir or Professor, I plan to hex whoever it is. Either Twitchy-Ears or Jelly-Legs, I haven't decided yet."

"Ruddy he..." Ron broke off at the look on Hermione's face. "You mean that, ah, Remus?"

"Try me and see," Remus said, idly twiddling his wand between his fingers.

Ron swallowed and returned to his pizza.

The rest of the meal was marked by nothing more exciting than Hermione trying to guess who the Hyperactive Actor was, while the rest of the group, who had finished the second book, pestered her with clues. She finally got it (the six-year-old son of Erica's acting teacher) around the time the last of the pizza disappeared in Ron's vicinity.

"I'll clean up," said Remus. "_Evanesco_!" The pizza boxes disappeared.

"Crikey, must be nice to be legal," Ron said enviously.

"It has its advantages," Remus agreed. "Harry, are you free now? To have that chat we discussed earlier?"

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said, again trying to sound casual and failing. He was tense and on edge from not knowing what Lupin – _Remus_ – wanted, and he had come to a conclusion at some point during lunch.

If he was going to have to answer questions, he was bloody well going to ask a few of his own.

-----

(A/N: "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms..." I'm not quite to that point yet, but what's up with the not-reviewing thing? Has everyone suddenly stopped reading this?

In case you haven't, here's a long chapter to make up for not updating on time... my sister was visiting and I was busy with keeping her happy.

As far as I know, adult bindings are available for Harry Potter books in Britain, for exactly the reason given by Remus.

Oh, and if anyone wants to see the cover picture from _Erica Gorelli and the Costume of Doom_, it happens to be online. Copy this link into your browser, put the double slash after the http: and get rid of the spaces. Erica is the one in the bottom right corner.

http: webpub. allegheny. edu/ employee/ b/bwatkins /images /mNightingale1 .jpg

Hope to hear from everyone soon... ::sigh::)


	9. Getting Answers

Chapter 9: Getting Answers

Harry followed Remus up the stairs from the kitchen and into the hallway, where they turned into the music room. Remus Silenced the room once more as Harry sat down in the same chair he'd used that morning. He could only think of one question Remus might want to ask about his relatives, and he really didn't want to answer it.

_Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he wants to know something else._

Remus sat down across from him. "Harry, how do your relatives treat you? Have they ever... hurt you?"

"Do they abuse me, you mean."

Remus nodded.

_Damn, I hate being right._ Harry let his shoulders slump and affected an interest in the wall.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this, Harry, but things are sometimes easier to deal with when they're out in the open. I will try to listen to you with an open mind and not jump to any conclusions."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. I'll answer your question, with as much detail as you want, if you'll answer one of mine."

"If I can, Harry, I will. Marauder's oath on it."

Harry grinned lopsidedly. "That, I trust." He closed his eyes, thinking back. "I guess..." _I might as well get it over with. I can't hide it forever. _"I guess it all depends on what you call abuse."

"You tell me," Remus said, leaning back in his chair with an attempt at nonchalance.

_Seems I'm not the only one on edge here. _Oddly, the observation calmed Harry a bit. Remus wasn't enjoying this any more than he was, and that made it easier to start. "A lot of what the Dursleys do – did – would probably fall under neglect more than abuse. Like not getting me proper clothes or not feeding me much. Or making me sleep in a cupboard – my first Hogwarts letter was addressed to 'Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs.'" He gave a small laugh. From a distance of five years, it seemed strangely funny.

Remus was watching him quietly, expression unreadable.

"After I got my letter, they moved me upstairs to a bedroom. Well, I didn't actually get my letter. My uncle took it and burned it. Another one came the next day, addressed to me in 'The Smallest Bedroom.' They just kept coming, until finally, on my birthday, Hagrid found me and gave one to me personally."

It was a hopelessly condensed version of that chaotic week, but it would do.

"They never stopped Dudley knocking me around, though. And they used to shut me up in the cupboard without meals for about a day at a time. Two days was the longest they ever didn't feed me for. Other times, they would lock me up in there and only let me out for school or meals or when they needed me to do something around the house. Like the time I made the glass disappear at the zoo."

"Made the glass disappear?"

"It was magic, of course, but I didn't know that then. It was Dudley's birthday, I got to go to the zoo because Mrs. Figg couldn't take care of me, and I was talking to this snake – in Parseltongue, probably, but like I said, I didn't know – and Dudley shoved me out of the way, and next thing I knew, the glass on the front of the exhibit was gone, and the snake was loose. It said thank you to me before it left." Harry smiled, remembering something he had thought at the time. "I've always wished Dudley had been leaning on the glass when it disappeared. It would have been funny if he'd fallen in."

"It sounds like a zoo is the best place for him. Can you tell me more about him?"

"Dudley? Great, swollen, bullying git. Scared stiff of magic, with good reason – Hagrid, er, got rather mad at him when he delivered my Hogwarts letter, Fred and George Weasley tested out one of their products on him two years back, and then last summer we got attacked by Dementors." Harry hoped Remus wouldn't notice his slip – he had never told anyone yet that Hagrid had given Dudley a pig's tail, since Hagrid couldn't legally do magic.

"You said he knocked you around?" Remus prompted.

Harry let out a silent sigh of relief. "Yeah. Him and a few of his friends. It was their favorite game, Harry Hunting. That's how I got so fast. They couldn't hit me if they couldn't catch me. It never went beyond bruises and such, but it got close once. He had me down and was twisting my arm – he might have broken it if he'd gone much farther – but I must have done accidental magic, because he started yelling about his feet and jumped off me."

"His feet?"

Harry grimaced. "The soles of his shoes were all melted. I got four days in the cupboard for that one. A week for the time I grew my hair back in one night, because my aunt was so sick of seeing it all messy that she practically had my head shaved. I forget how long for the time I got stuck on the school roof."

"What were you doing on the roof?"

"Nothing. Running away from Dudley and his gang. I just wanted to be safe – I tried to jump up on some stuff – and bang, I was sitting on the roof. I had a lot of stuff like that happen to me. And it always got me punished. Even though I couldn't help it..." Harry stopped. His throat was starting to close up, and he didn't want to cry in front of Remus again if he could help it.

_Well, at least not twice in the same day._

"I believe that's a quite adequate answer, Harry," Remus said. His voice had just a touch of a quiver in it, and Harry noticed that his eyes were very bright. He blinked a few times before he went on. "Now, your question for me. If I don't know the answer, I will attempt to find out."

"All right. Thanks." Harry thought over the myriad questions he had for the adults in his life and discovered that one had come to the fore in the last few minutes. "Why did I have to stay with the Dursleys? Why do I still have to go back there every summer? I know there's some kind of protection there I don't get other places, but why did it have to be there, with people who hate me?"

"You would have to pick something I don't know, Harry. I know only as much as you do about this subject. But I know who can tell you more, if he's willing."

"Who?"

"Professor Dumbledore."

Harry shrugged. "I don't want to bother him if he's busy."

"I'm sure he'd be happy to speak with you, Harry," Remus said. "Wait here, I'll send a message along." He left the room, and Harry was alone with his thoughts. Thoughts which were, at the moment, filled with Albus Dumbledore.

In truth, he wasn't sure how he felt about seeing the Headmaster again. The last time they had met was the morning after Sirius had died, the morning when Dumbledore had shown Harry the prophecy. Harry had been furious, disbelieving and grief-stricken, and had taken it out on some of Dumbledore's gadgets.

_I hope he's not angry about that._

But he wasn't only worried about how the Headmaster might react to him. He wondered how he really felt about Dumbledore.

_Voldemort tried to control me directly by possessing me. But isn't Dumbledore just trying to control me indirectly by nudging me the way he wants me to go?_

His mind seemed split right down the middle. Half of him insisted Dumbledore was too moral even to consider controlling someone, the other half was cynically sure Dumbledore was controlling everything.

_I do believe he wanted – he wants – what's best for me. It's just that he assumes he knows what that is, and then he goes ahead and does it without asking me. Even if he's right, I would still like it if he would at least get my opinion before he chose my life for me._

He knew, intellectually, that Dumbledore hadn't had much choice in where to send him as an infant. He had been a famous baby, famous and in terrible danger, and there was some kind of protective magic that had been invoked by his mother's sacrifice, so that he was safe in the place where his mother's blood relatives lived. His Aunt Petunia and Dudley both qualified, he guessed, though Dumbledore had only talked about his aunt.

_But why didn't he ever take me away from there, after the danger was past?_

_Hang on. He said something about that in June. I wasn't paying much attention at the time. Something like "When you arrived at Hogwarts, you were not as happy or as well-nourished as I would have liked, but you were alive and healthy. You were not a pampered prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped..." _

_Is that what this was all about? Keeping me from getting spoiled? He could have sent me to live with Snape if he wanted to do that..._

Harry burst out laughing. He couldn't help himself. The idea of him living with the greasy-haired Potions professor was utterly ludicrous.

"May we share the joke?" asked a familiar voice from behind him.

Harry stood up to greet his Headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore was wearing his usual robes and pointed hat, and his phoenix, Fawkes, sat on his shoulder. Lupin – _no, Remus, I have to get used to that_ – followed him into the room and closed the door.

"I'm afraid I don't remember it, sir. I'd share it with you if I could, though."

"Quite all right, Harry. Remus tells me you have a question for me."

"Yes, sir." Harry looked at Dumbledore and felt a wave of irrational pride that the Headmaster met his eyes, something he hadn't done all last year. "I wanted to know, sir, why I had to live with the Dursleys all those years. Why no one ever checked on me to see if I was all right."

"Were you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry glanced over at Remus, who nodded slightly. He looked back at Dumbledore and gathered his courage. "No, sir. I wasn't. I hated it there."

"Would you mind telling me why?"

Some things, Harry discovered, were easier to tell the second time around. It helped that Dumbledore didn't look accusing or bored or condescending at any time. He listened intently as Harry catalogued the events of ten miserable years and five unhappy summers. Fawkes fluttered from Dumbledore's shoulder to the arm of Harry's chair around Harry's fifth birthday.

Harry wrapped up with a summary of his thoughts before Dumbledore came in, trying to keep it as polite as possible, but also trying to get across his frustration. "Sir, sometimes I feel like I'm a child. But I'm really not. I can't be, any more, can I? And people keep treating me as one. Or as some delicate piece of equipment – take it out when you need it, lock it up when you don't. I – it's – it's hard to explain. I'm sorry." He realized he was standing up and quickly sat down. He hoped he hadn't been shouting.

"You have some justice on your side, Harry," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers in the familiar gesture Harry was so used to. "I have been treating you in many ways as a child. Legally, of course, you are still a child for another year, but in no real sense of the word can you still be considered a child. Please forgive me."

Harry nodded, stroking Fawkes' head. He was beginning to wonder if maybe he hadn't gotten more than he bargained for, asking a question only Dumbledore could answer.

Dumbledore continued. "As to your relatives, I can only say that I am sorry, and perhaps offer some explanation. You know that your aunt and uncle are not always glad to see you."

Harry just stopped himself from snorting. _Not always? Try never._

"And yet they took you in and kept you in their home. You must have wondered why. And now you ask why. Why did no one ever come to check on you, why did no one tell you the truth about your parents. Harry, the night I left you at number 4 Privet Drive, I entered into a magical contract with your aunt and uncle. This contract stated that, in return for taking care of you and keeping you alive and well, they would be left alone."

"Left alone?"

"Minerva had observed them for me. She told me what they were like – resistant to the very idea of magic, frightened by it. You needed the protection that only they could offer you. I promised your aunt and uncle that, if they would take you in and care for you, no magical person or persons would communicate with them until you were of age to attend school. By magical law, that promise was binding, as long as both sides were kept. Your aunt and uncle kept their side of the bargain – perhaps tenuously at times, but they kept it. And I kept mine."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Memories crashed through his head. Sitting alone in his cupboard with only the spiders for company. Running from Dudley, all the hairsbreadth escapes, and the times he hadn't escaped. Doing hours of housework with only a meager meal for a reward. Being treated like an unwelcome dog.

All for the sake of a promise.

But Fawkes trilled lightly, and something in his mind, something which seemed to have a voice he half-knew, took the memories and turned them inside out. _You learned to be self-reliant, not to be afraid of the dark, or of spiders, or of almost anything. Your reflexes and your speed were trained for Quidditch, or for dodging curses. You know how to work hard and not complain. And you'll never take the friendship and love of others for granted, because for so long you didn't have it._

"I... think I understand, sir," he said slowly.

"I am glad to hear it, Harry," said Dumbledore soberly. "It may interest you to know that in the first two months after you came to live at number 4 Privet Drive, there were three attacks on the house by former Death Eaters. The wards on the house repelled them all – your relatives never even knew that anything was wrong. Had you been living anywhere else, this would not have been the case. There would have been deaths; perhaps even you would have died. I am sorry with all my heart that you were so unhappy with your aunt and uncle, but it was necessary to keep you safe."

"And to keep me from turning into a 'pampered little prince', sir?" Harry smiled thinly, trying to make it into a joke.

"Indeed. I wanted least of all for you to become such a young man as, say, Draco Malfoy. If you had been fostered with a wizarding family, you would have been a celebrity child, the young half-blood prince who defeated the pure-blood Dark Lord, the hero of half-bloods and Muggle-borns everywhere."

Harry frowned. "Sir – Voldemort's not a pure-blood. His father was a Muggle. Wasn't he?"

"He was, but Voldemort will never admit that to his followers. He has buried Tom Marvolo Riddle, the half-blood orphan raised in a Muggle institution, so deeply that he may believe himself that he is pure-blood."

"I told them," Harry said, recalling. "I told Malfoy and the others, at the Ministry, that he was a half-blood. Before we started fighting."

"Unfortunately, they are unlikely to believe you, Harry. If they knew the truth, it is likely many of them would drift away, and our work would be half done for us. As it is..." Dumbledore sighed. "I will not lie to you, Harry. Seven people have been killed since you left Hogwarts. Four were Muggles, three Muggle-born witches or wizards. The Order has been able to halt several planned attacks, but we cannot be everywhere."

"Headmaster," Remus said from the corner. Harry jumped. He had almost forgotten the man was there. "Harry saw Dolores Umbridge this morning."

"Yes, Umbridge." Dumbledore sighed. "Fudge refuses to believe she did anything wrong. You saw her, Harry? Where?"

Harry explained about waiting in the window seat, seeing Umbridge on the street, his mad desire to chase after her, and how he had stopped himself. He put the best face he could on not telling Dumbledore about Umbridge's detentions while they were happening, but he knew his excuses were just that, excuses. Dumbledore, though, overlooked this, examining Harry's scarred hand and nodding somberly.

"I fear you are correct, Harry. Dolores Umbridge may have access to your mind in a limited way through your blood and these scars. And I cannot remove them, at least, not now, not without knowing how she established such a link. My best advice to you is, if you feel your mind is being probed, think of something diverting. Something entertaining and with little apparent relevance to real life. You may be able to trick Umbridge into thinking you never have serious thoughts."

Harry smiled. "I have the perfect thing, sir. A book series I've been reading."

"Erica Gorelli?" Dumbledore smiled at the surprise on Harry's face. "I'm glad you've encountered them. They're precisely the kind of thing I mean. Many adult wizards and witches consider such books a waste of time. Myself – I think it can be handy to see things in a different way, from another perspective as it were. And now, I must be getting back to school."

Fawkes gave Harry a farewell trill, then spread his wings and flew to Dumbledore's shoulder. In a flash of fire, the two were gone.

"Remus?" said Harry into the silence. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Harry," Remus said softly, pressing Harry's shoulder. "Come on, I think Ron and Hermione are getting anxious."

After two sessions of such intense emotion in one day, Harry was perfectly content to sit at the kitchen table with a mug of butterbeer and listen to Ron and Ginny's stories about growing up in a household full of wizards and Hermione's about growing up like a normal Muggle. Mrs. Weasley returned around four o'clock, laden with grocery bags, and Mr. Weasley arrived shortly afterward, and the twins Apparated into the kitchen in the middle of dinner preparations, causing Mrs. Weasley to shriek and set her robes on fire.

Harry only managed half a chapter of _Insane Dorm Hall_ that night before he started feeling his eyelids dragging shut. _Well, I did have a short night last night... was it just last night?_ It seemed like far longer.

He scooted down in the bed and took off his glasses, placing them carefully on the nightstand. Then, for some reason he didn't quite understand, he reached over the edge of the bed and arranged his shoes where he could get at them quickly.

As his eyes closed, Harry wondered if he'd have uninterrupted sleep tonight...

-----

A terrible, high-pitched squeal awakened him.

"Aah!" He clamped his hands over his ears, but that didn't help. Especially not when the air-horn-like blasts of noise began.

"Come on," Ron shouted over the noise. "We have to go out. We'll get in trouble if we don't."

The hallway outside the door of their room was partially painted a vivid green. Hermione and Ginny, looking grouchy, were emerging from the room next door to theirs. Other people, male and female, were coming out of the other doors along the hall and heading for the swinging doors at the end, which led out. The horrible sounds echoed twice as loud in the tiled vestibule, but at last they got outside, where the noise was far less audible.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "Two fire alarms in as many nights, and both of them at hours when decent people are asleep?"

"Welcome to Carrington," someone said resignedly behind them. It was a young woman with shoulder-length hair and glasses, wearing flip-flops and a red bathrobe. "You must be the British students. Fran said you wanted to meet me about choir auditions. I'm Erica Gorelli."

-----

(A/N: You people had better appreciate this. It's 3:00 AM and I _couldn't stop writing_!

MackenzieW: Thanks! I had fun crafting that scene to catch people with dirty minds!

Caprice-Ann HedicanKocur: Glad you like the photo. Erica gets a little sick of seeing it – it went on the cover of Carrington's flyer announcing this year's plays. The one they send to all the alumni and every current student.

harryp123: Thanks dude! Here ya go!

Joshua: I aim to please. Catch up soon and review all you like!

Hope to hear from everyone soon!)


	10. Tomorrow

Chapter 10: Tomorrow

"Harry Potter," said Harry, shaking hands with her. "This is Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger."

"Nice to meet you," said Erica as handshakes passed all around. "Though I could wish for better circumstances. At least it's not raining. Or snowing."

"What, they have these when it snows?" Ron blurted.

"Well, you never know when the building's going to burn down," Erica said. "Worst case scenario, it's 2 AM, the middle of winter, _and_ you're in the shower when it goes. Happened to a friend of mine last year."

"Yuck!" said Ginny.

"Her hair was frozen stiff by the time they let us back in," Erica added.

Hermione shivered. So did Harry.

"About choir..." Erica looked back at the Rivers building. The fire alarm had finally stopped. "Why don't we talk tomorrow? Or rather, later today? Are you all free around noonish?"

"I think so," said Harry, as Ginny and Hermione nodded.

"All right, then, want to meet for lunch at noon? Over at the food court in the Student Union? I can explain about what goes on in auditions, and then we can all go up and do them together."

"You have to audition?" asked Hermione. "Aren't you already in the choir?"

"Big Guy makes everyone re-audition every semester," Erica explained as they mounted the steps into the building. "It's how he makes sure everyone is still good, and sees who's ready to move up. Like me – I'm in the women's choir now, but I'm hoping to make the co-ed choir this semester too. So..." She sighed. "Listen to me. I could talk all night. Twelve o'clock at Garritty's?"

"We'll be there," Ginny said.

"Great. G'night." Erica unlocked the door of the quad at the end of their hall. A round of variations on "Good night" followed her inside.

"Well, I'm going to try and get some more sleep," Hermione said, yawning hugely.

"Who could sleep after that?" Ron demanded.

"I'm going to try, at least," Harry said. "You do what you like, but remember it's quiet hours. And if you shine that flashlight in my eyes again, I'm throwing it out the window."

"I already said I was sorry, what more do you want?"

"How about 'I won't do it again'?"

"I said that too!"

"No, you didn't."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Go. To. _Bed_," Ginny and Hermione said forcefully in unison.

-----

Luckily for all concerned, the day of the fire alarm was a Tuesday, and classes didn't start until Thursday. However, it meant Harry had nothing much to do with his morning after he and Ron ate breakfast at the dining hall that took up most of the ground floor of the Rivers complex.

Ron was trying to better his score at online ping-pong, so he wasn't up for conversation, and Hermione and Ginny were sleeping late. Harry decided to wander around the hall and take a look at the names posted outside the doors.

At one end of the hall was Erica's quad, with _Gwylan_, _Erica_, _Elizabeth_, and _Edith_ written on the green, vaguely reptilian paper cutouts. _Hermione_ and _Ginevra_ were next door, of course, and next to them _Harry_ and _Ron_.

On the other side of his own room, Harry saw, lived a _Matthew_ and a _Bradley_. He felt a little sorry for them, since they also lived directly opposite the bathroom. _Francesca_ was next door to them, with the placard on the wall showing where she was, obligatory for all RAs. At the moment, her Velcro marker was on "I'm here, knock", but Harry didn't want to bother her.

Across the hall from Fran were _Rose_ and _Anna_. Next door to them was _Robert_, and across from him was _DJ_. Harry wondered why DJ was the only person with a nickname on his nametag. Ginny was already planning on asking Fran if she could have hers changed, and Ron had simply scratched out the last half of _Ronald_ with a black marker an hour after they had moved in.

_Another mystery of Carrington College. Along with what these things actually are._ He looked at the shape of the cutout again, but beyond the obvious – four legs, mouth full of teeth, and tail – he couldn't make it out._ I'll ask Fran at some point – she made them, after all._

The last two rooms at the end of the hall were home to _Taylor_ and _Marcus_, and finally there was the door to the back stairs, which led up to the hall that held the big all-building lounge, where he and his friends had been relaxing the night before with tea and games.

_This building's a labyrinth. If I get lost in here, I'll be lucky to get out before I'm a senior._

Harry promised himself that he'd learn his way around soon.

_The colors on the walls should help._

Each hall had a distinctive color of paint from about waist-level down – blues, yellows, and greens mostly, though Harry had heard that the third floor of Pennie Hall (which was on the other side of the Rivers complex from Gardner, beyond Rivers Hall proper) was an awful shade of lavender. The 1st Gardner color was a vivid green, which Fran said had been dubbed "radioactive key lime" by the previous year's residents.

_I could really get to like it here_, Harry mused. _2 am fire drills notwithstanding._

He checked his watch, saw that it was 11:30, and went to knock on the girls' door.

"Hermione? Ginny?"

No answer.

_They must still be asleep._

He tried the knob. The door wasn't locked.

He opened the door and looked in. Then he closed it, very quickly.

_Don't you ever learn?_ said an annoyingly smarmy little voice in the back of his head.

"Learn from what? I've never seen anything like that before..." Harry stopped. _First off, I'm talking to myself. And secondly, I think I have seen Hermione doing that before...but I can't remember when, or where..._

"Oh, never mind," he mumbled, and knocked loudly on the door. "Ginny! Hermione! Time to get up!"

-----

It was 11:56 by Harry's watch when they walked through the swinging glass doors into the Student Union. Erica waved at them from one of the dining tables. An Asian girl was sitting across from her, with an instrument case – a bass or cello, by the size – propped against her chair.

"Everyone, this is Edith Lee, one of my roommates," Erica said. "I'm afraid you're going to have to introduce yourselves, I'm notoriously terrible with names."

Edith laughed. "No kidding. You didn't know mine for three weeks last year and I lived next door to you!"

"We live next door to you, as it happens," said Hermione. "I'm Hermione Granger, this is Ginny Weasley."

"Her-mi-o-ne," Edith repeated. "Is that how you say it? Neat."

"My brother, Ron Weasley, and my boyfriend, Harry Potter," Ginny said.

"Good to meetcha," Edith said. "'Fraid I gotta run, though, string auditions start in five. See ya 'round."

She hefted her instrument and departed.

"What does she play?" Ron asked.

"Cello," Erica said. "Any of you play anything?"

"We all do," Hermione said. "We just started last year, but we're getting pretty good. Ron's wonderful."

"That so? Whatcha play?"

"Piano," Ron said, his ears reddening. "But I'm not that good."

"We can see later," Erica said. "I'm hungry, anyone else? They've got stir-fry today, that's always good."

Hermione apparently agreed, joining Erica in the stir-fry line. Harry and Ginny headed for the deli counter while Ron grabbed a personal pizza from under the warming lights. They checked out, giving the cashier their student IDs to swipe through the register, and returned to their table, where silence reigned for about five minutes while everyone paid close attention to their food.

"Now, about auditions," Erica began, taking a long drink of her ginger ale. "They're always the same. A form to fill out – basic stuff, name, contact information, what part you sing, experience, things like that. Then the singing. Do you know 'My Country, 'Tis of Thee'?"

"No," said Harry blankly. He had never heard of such a song. From the expressions on his friends' faces, neither had they.

"Stupid –" Erica cut off abruptly. "Not you, me. Of course you don't, those are the American words. Do you know your national anthem?"

"Of course," Hermione said. "Everyone knows that."

"How does it go?" Erica asked. "Just to make sure."

Ron demonstrated.

_God save our gracious Queen,_

_Long live our noble Queen,_

_God save the Queen!_

"Perfect," Erica said, looking relieved. "It's the same tune – oh, and if you always sing like that, you're golden, Big Guy always needs good tenors," she told Ron, who looked decidedly relieved. "Just tell him you know different words to it, he won't mind. After that, he'll test your range, up and down, to see how far you can sing, and then he'll have you sight-sing a bit, and that's all. Oh, and to warn you, he looks imposing and grumpy, but he's really a big softie."

"We should be able to deal with imposing and grumpy," said Ron. "Some of our professors back home practically had the market cornered on that."

"Come on, then," Erica said. "If everyone's done. Auditions are open-door, you just walk in and wait your turn."

The music building was actually part of the Student Union, as was the art building beside it. The huge auditorium where Erica said the concerts were held sat between them. The choir room was on the second floor of the music building, down a hall from the entrance to the Union.

"I'm back, did you miss me?" Erica called as she entered the room.

"Look, Dottie, it's the Gorilla Girl!" exclaimed a rotund man with brown hair and a short white beard and mustache. "Welcome back!"

"Hello, Erica," said a blond woman in her middle years from behind the risers that filled most of the room. "Planning on taking voice lessons this year?"

"Yes, ma'am," Erica said. "You wouldn't have an Add Card around, would you?"

"Oh, not at all," said Dottie, handing Erica a slip of green paper. "All it needs is your ID number."

Erica looked it over and sighed. "You knew I'd be taking lessons before I did. Somehow that's not fair."

"Life's not fair, Gorilla," said Big Guy. "Who's all these?"

"Freshmen," Erica said. "They want to sing with us. And you can't play 'scare the freshies' with them, because I told them you're a big old softie."

"You're no fun," Big Guy said, shaking his head and walking over to the piano. "Who's first?"

The form for returning singers was less complicated than for first-timers, so Erica ended up singing first. Harry listened as Big Guy coaxed her voice higher than he would have thought possible for an alto. When Ginny went up, the opposite was true – Big Guy managed to get low notes from her Harry hadn't even heard from Hermione before.

Hermione, for her part, missed a few notes on her sight-singing, but her tone was almost perfect. Ron, as usual, sang out fearlessly and managed to get well into the treble clef before his voice cracked. Then it was Harry's turn.

He sang "God Save the Queen" and moved up and down intervals singing an "ah" vowel. Big Guy suggested he adjust his posture slightly, and suddenly his range was five notes wider. Finally, it was time for sight-singing, the part Harry had been dreading. He followed the score as closely as he could and adjusted his note quickly the few times it didn't sound right. _Not as bad as I was afraid of, but not as good as I hoped,_ he thought, waiting for the choir director to say something.

"The lists go up tomorrow," Big Guy said, making a few notes on Harry's audition form. "Bulletin board outside my office, noon or thereabouts." He turned back to the piano. Harry understood he was dismissed.

The four spent their afternoon scheduling classes.

Hermione had placed very highly on all the tests, so she was taking high-level chemistry, the first of the literature series, and an American history course, "because I really don't know much about it," along with her freshman seminar, which every first-semester student took.

Ron picked out a music theory class to complement first-year mathematics and British history, which he freely admitted he was hoping would be an easy A.

Ginny liked the look of the theatre department and scheduled in the introductory theatre lecture, along with an English course less advanced than Hermione's and a low-level biology course.

Harry was about as undecided as he had ever been, so finally he picked one class from each of his friends' schedules – Ginny's theatre course, Ron's math class, and Hermione's American history – and put those on his own course card. He vaguely remembered doing something of the sort in years past, with the reasoning, _at least I'll have someone to hate it with_. They turned in their cards at the main office just as the campus bells chimed five.

They ran into Erica at Rivers Dining Hall, and she invited them back to her room after dinner. There they met her other roommates, Lanie and Lizzie, and ended up staying late to watch a movie. Erica made popcorn on the stove in the quad's kitchen for them.

_I am definitely getting to like it here,_ Harry thought as Ginny rested her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm behind her back. _Now if those audition results are just good tomorrow._

-----

The night was, for once, uneventful, and the four got up early to go book-shopping for their classes, managing to score a wait in line of only 45 minutes. "We were lucky," Ron said in awe, looking at the line now stretched around two corners, up the stairs, and into the textbook section of the bookstore. "It was only around one corner when we got here."

Ginny sighed. "Only having two cashiers is kind of silly."

"Look on the bright side, at least we're not waiting around doing nothing for the choir lists to go up," Harry pointed out.

"I'd rather be doing nothing," Ron said wistfully. "We could sit and do nothing. My feet hurt."

"Get over yourself," Hermione snapped. Her pile of books, as usual, was larger than anyone else's.

After they had finally checked out, Harry suggested they check their mail before they went over to the choir room. The post office and bookstore, along with the student-run coffee shop, were all on the second level of the Student Union, so this made sense.

"Everyone have your box combination?" Harry asked, pulling a small oaktag card from his pocket.

"Got mine," Ginny said.

"And mine," said Ron. "Er, somewhere." He rummaged through his bag, coming up triumphant from the front compartment.

"I've memorized it," Hermione said smugly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why does this not surprise me?"

There was uniform lack of ability to open the mailboxes until a passing upperclassman took pity on them and told them the secret. You had to _pull_ on the lock as you turned it. Ginny was the first to open her box after that, followed quickly by Ron, then Hermione and Harry in a tie. And there was plenty of material in the boxes.

"Hey, schedules!" Ron said, opening his. "Look at this – I've got everything I wanted!"

Amazingly, all of them had gotten every class they had signed up for. Fran had told them the chances of this were slim.

"I guess we're just extra lucky today," Harry said, stuffing his mail into his bag of books. "C'mon, let's go check the lists before it wears off."

He led the way at a trot around the balcony of the Student Union into the music building and down the hallway, where they stopped at the sight of an eager crowd of students, all pushing to see a small bulletin board. Harry joined the throng, and after a moment, suddenly found himself at the front, staring at the list labeled "College Choir".

There it was, under "Bass 1", with three or four other names that meant nothing to him.

_Harry Potter._

"I made it!" he exalted, quickly running his finger down the other part listings. "Ron, you too – and Hermy – and Gin! Everyone's in!"

Hermione and Ginny squealed and hugged each other. Ron was grinning like a maniac.

"See you at rehearsal," said Erica, emerging from the crush with a smile as big as Ron's. "We start tomorrow."

-----

The rest of the day passed in a sort of blur of happiness. Not even the discovery that the choir practiced three days a week at his usual dinnertime could dampen Harry's mood. He was still grinning as he sat down at his computer that night.

_Dear Remus,_

_You'll never believe it – all that practice paid off! We're all in the choir! You were right, by the way – Professor Johnson, the choir director, has me classed as a baritone. Everyone calls him "Big Guy"; I found out his real name is Leonard and he hates it. Thank you for helping us learn to read music. I think it's really going to pay off..._

He continued with a description of his classes and added notes from Ron and Hermione and Ginny before signing the e-mail and sending it on its way.

"You mind if I stay up a little?" Ron asked. He was still at his computer.

"No, not really," Harry said. "Can we have the light off, though?"

"No problem."

Harry switched off the light and climbed into his bed.

_What a day. And classes don't even start till tomorrow._

The word filled his mind as he took his glasses off and closed his eyes.

_Tomorrow..._

-----

"Harry?"

"Hmmh?"

"Harry, wake up."

Harry opened one eye groggily. "Remus?" His brain didn't seem to want to work. "Thought you were in England."

Remus looked amused. "We are in England, Harry."

Harry digested this. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He sat up and shook his head, feeling the dream slip away. "I dreamt I was somewhere else. What's up?"

"You, I hope. Breakfast is ready."

"For breakfast, I can be up." Harry reached for his glasses. "Give me ten seconds head start before you wake Ron."

Remus chuckled. "He does seem to eat like there's no tomorrow."

The last word seemed to resonate oddly in Harry's ears, and he suddenly remembered a question he had wanted to ask. "Remus, you can read music, right?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. "I... I want to learn to sing. And I think Ron and the girls might too."

"Any particular reason?"

"Not really. Just... I have a feeling."

"Well, musical notation I can teach you," Remus said. "But singing is something else. I know there's quite a lot of technical details, but I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea what they are. Were you planning on following the lessons in the Erica Gorelli books by any chance?"

"Sort of," Harry admitted.

"They seem reasonable enough. I doubt there's any way you could hurt yourself singing the way they describe. So I'd say go ahead, but don't scream any high notes."

"Is that like 'don't take any wooden Galleons'?" Harry asked, nipping out of the room to avoid the hairbrush Remus chucked at him.

-----

(A/N: Is it just me, or do these chapters keep getting longer?

harryp123: Now you don't have to wait. Just remember, variety is the spice of life.

MackenzieW: The first step is admitting you have a problem... ;-)

MAndrews: Thank you for all your reviews! I'm glad you found me again! I love the Canon too, in case you couldn't tell, and for the Hermione scene... heh heh heh, no guarantees, sucker. We happened to have a fire alarm at 2 AM as I was writing Chapter 9, so it kind of grew naturally out of that. And about Umbridge – agreed. Don't worry too much – something will happen to her eventually – I just have to figure out what, and why, and how.

I must admit I love writing this fic! Enjoy, all!)


	11. Lessons, Ideas, and Promises

Chapter 11: Lessons, Ideas, and Promises

Harry's "feeling" had been right. Ginny and Hermione had jumped at the chance to learn more about music, and even Ron had looked surprisingly eager. Harry was a little puzzled by his friends' strongly positive reactions.

_I know why I want to do this – I felt so good, so alive when I was singing at the audition, and getting into the choir just felt wonderful... I wonder if they're dreaming anything like I'm dreaming? _

It didn't matter, though. What mattered was that they wanted to learn, and Remus was willing to teach them.

"Let's start at the beginning," Remus said, tapping the blackboard he'd conjured in the music room with his wand, so that five closely set horizontal lines appeared on it. "This is the staff on which music is written. A staff will have a marker on it, called a clef, to tell you if the notes it shows are high or low – treble or bass."

Another staff appeared below the first. The top was marked with a treble clef, the bottom with a bass. Two lines on the left, one straight, one curved, joined them. "This is a grand staff. Most musical scores are written on one of these. Questions so far?"

Harry shook his head. Hermione was taking careful notes as usual, filling the lines of her staff with tiny precise words. Ginny was scribbling something in her margin. Ron seemed to be fascinated by the notations on the board, leaning forward as if he wanted to memorize them.

"Good." The board cleared itself and filled with a set of things that looked like lower case P's and D's. "These are the notes. They tell you how long to keep playing or singing. In general, the more ink is used to write one, the less time you stay on it."

It went on from there. There were terms that sounded like math, terms that sounded like Quidditch, and terms that sounded like nothing Harry had ever heard before. Yet the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Everything added up in musical notation; everything had a meaning, and that meaning was clear if you just thought about it a little.

_Wish I could say the same about my life. _

"Now, do you want to try actually singing something?" Remus asked, opening the piano. "I'm not much of a pianist, but I can pick out a tune."

"Like what?" Ginny asked.

"We should probably start simple. How about 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'?"

"I think I can do that," Ginny said, tossing her hair back.

"Start on this note, then," Remus said, pressing one of the keys.

"What note is it?" Ron asked. He had his eyes closed and his head at an odd angle, as if he were trying to remember something he'd learned long ago.

"Middle C. Ginny, on the count. One, two, three, four..."

_Twinkle, twinkle, little star,_

_How I wonder what you are._

_Up above the world so high,_

_Like a diamond in the sky,_

_Twinkle, twinkle, little star,_

_How I wonder what you are._

Hermione and Harry applauded for her as she blushed.

"Nice work," Remus said. "You have a good natural voice, Ginny. Ron, do you want to go next?"

Ron was still off in his own little world, eyes shut, muttering something to himself.

"Ron?"

Ron jumped. "Oh. Sorry. Ah, sure." He stood up. Remus played an F for him to sing from and gave him a four-count.

Harry stared at his friend. As Ron took his first breath to sing, he seemed to change, almost to be transformed. His usual slouch was replaced with a centered, erect posture Harry remembered from the choir audition at Carrington. His face became a mixture of concentration and joy. And where Ginny's voice had been thin and sweet, like lemonade, Ron's was warm and rich, like hot chocolate.

Harry had once seen a picture of himself on a broomstick. The look on Ron's face while he sang was almost the same as Harry's expression in the photo. Harry wondered if Ron, too, felt that he had suddenly found something he could do without being taught, something easy, something _wonderful_...

Hermione seemed to be holding her breath. Ginny's eyes were fixed on her brother. When Ron finished, they both applauded wildly. Ron grinned sheepishly and sat down quickly.

"That was very good, Ron," said Remus, smiling at him. "Very good indeed."

Harry felt a touch of an unfamiliar emotion.

_Am I... jealous?_

"Musical talent would seem to run in the family," Remus went on. "Do any of your brothers play or sing?"

Ginny nodded. "Fred likes the drums. He's pretty good. And George was always messing with this old guitar he found in the attic."

"I don't know if he can actually play the thing or not, though," Ron added. "Mum put a Silencer on their room specifically targeted to music, so she could hear if they got in trouble but we wouldn't have to put up with them practicing."

"D'you think he'd teach me?" Harry asked, making up his mind in an instant. "George, that is. If he can play. You think he would?"

"Harry?" Remus asked in an odd voice. "Did you just say you want to learn to play the guitar?"

Harry was surprised by Remus' expression. "I guess so. Why? Would it be a problem?" _He looks... I don't know, worried? Disturbed? _

_Amused?_

"Not a problem. Not exactly. That is, not at all." Remus shook his head. "Sorry, I guess I'm out of practice teaching. Class dismissed."

Hermione groaned. "I didn't even get a chance to sing!"

"Yeah, what about us?" Harry whined in a little-boy voice, grinning.

"Later," Remus said firmly. "Go do something else for a while. You'll think better afterwards."

-----

Harry went upstairs to get his copy of _Dorm Hall_. As he tiptoed back down the stairs, he was struck with an idea.

-----

"Remus?"

"What is it, Harry?"

"I was wondering about the portrait of Mrs. Black. About getting it down."

Remus sighed. "Harry, you know as well as I do, Permanent Sticking Charms are, well, permanent."

"So the portrait is permanently stuck to a piece of the wall. Why can't you just cut that piece out of the wall?"

Remus laughed, a little sadly. "Oh, Harry..."

"What, wouldn't it work?"

"Do you have any idea how much like your father you just sounded?" Remus smiled. "That was always Prongs' way. If there isn't a door there, make a door."

Harry shivered a little. He wasn't sure if he liked being compared to his father.

Remus went on without noticing. "I think it's worth a try, at any rate. Go warn the others there may be some noise."

"Some noise" was an understatement. Mrs. Black screamed bloody murder when her portrait fell to the hallway floor. Amid her shrieks of "_Filth! Freaks! How dare you remove me in my own home!_", Remus maneuvered the thing (and the section of wall on the back) up the stairs and into the attic, where he dropped it face down. There was one last howl, and blessed silence fell.

Harry removed his fingers from his ears and gave Remus the thumbs-up.

"Good," Remus said, removing the earplugs he'd enchanted for this job. "You know, that was really the last obstacle to making this house truly livable again. Maybe we can do something about that now."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well..." Remus hesitated. "Harry, what are the others doing?"

"I think they're reading," Harry said. "The girls anyway. Don't know where Ron is." It was only half-true. He didn't know where Ron was, not for sure, but he had last seen his best friend in the general vicinity of the music room, and with the Silencing Charms on the walls, Ron would be unlikely to notice if the house was attacked by Death Eaters while he was in there.

_Probably need to change that. Maybe see if there's such a thing as a one-way Silencer._

"Good." Remus seemed distracted. "Harry, there's something we need to discuss."

"Oh, not _again_," Harry groaned, trying to make a joke out of it.

It worked, at least partly, as Remus chuckled lightly. "Yes, I'm afraid so, _again_. Join me?"

Harry nodded, and they made their way down the stairs and into the front room. Harry curled up on the window seat again, with Remus on a couch beside it.

"It's about Sirius," Remus began.

Harry flinched. The memory still hurt to look at, hurt to touch. He wondered when he'd start dreaming about it again.

Remus nodded in sympathy. "I know, Harry. Neither of us has healed yet. We probably won't for a long time. But life must go on, and we need to deal with some matters now. Are you aware that Sirius made a will?"

"No."

"He did. He named Professor Dumbledore his executor, so the Headmaster plans to come out either later today or tomorrow to read the will. I don't know exactly who he left bequests to, or what they are, but I'm sure you're named. Quite possibly as the primary beneficiary."

"But – I don't need gold. I don't need anything." _Except my godfather back. The one thing I can't have._

"I know that. Sirius knew that. I remember him mentioning your attitude towards money once while he was writing. Right before he mentioned something else."

The pause was so long that Harry looked up. Remus seemed to be carefully regarding the opposite corner of the room, and Harry felt a wild desire to shout, _Look at me! You wanted to talk to me, so look at me when you're doing it, dammit!_

"He asked me to take care of you, Harry," Remus said finally. "He may well have written it down in the will, but he asked me directly that day. And I agreed. I can't be your legal guardian – Umbridge made sure of that – but if you need someone, I am always here. Always."

He turned around, and Harry saw his face. For the first time he could remember, Remus' expression was easily readable, and what Harry saw stunned him.

_He cares about me. _

_He cares about **me**. Not The-Boy-Who-Lived, or the son of his best friend. Me. Harry Potter._

_And he's afraid I don't care about him._

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, trying to let his face and his tone say everything his words couldn't, say how much this meant to him, how much he needed someone to care, and how much he cared in return. "I appreciate that. I _really_ appreciate that."

Remus smiled again as he had when he had first seen Harry in the doorway of the music room. His face almost literally glowed.

Harry couldn't help smiling back. Some of the weight on his shoulders was gone, now that he knew there was someone at least willing to help carry it.

"Another thing I wanted to ask you about, Harry," Remus said, still with a small smile on his face. "You told Professor Dumbledore yesterday that you didn't feel like a child any more. So what do you feel like?"

"Confused," Harry said without missing a beat, and Remus laughed.

Harry smiled a little ruefully. "I know, it sounds funny, but I mean it. I don't know _what_ I am. I'm not an adult legally, and I don't know how to act like one, but I can't be a child any more. Not when I know..." He stopped, biting his lip. Remus didn't know about the prophecy.

"Is it something secret?"

"Yeah."

Remus regarded him for a moment. "If I had to guess," he said carefully, "I would guess that Dumbledore told you this secret. Would I be right?"

Harry nodded.

"Would I be breaking any rules if I asked him about it?"

"I dunno. Don't think so." Harry was already falling into the dreary cadences of the same thoughts he'd been having for weeks. _I have to kill or be killed. There's no way out. I either have to die, or I have to be a murderer..._

Without even realizing it, Harry drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face in his knees.

_Dying might not be so bad. No more pain, and seeing Sirius again, and my parents..._

_But if I die, Voldemort wins. I can't do that to everyone. _

_So I have to kill. I have to do to him what he wants to do to me._

_But doesn't that make me just as bad as he is?_

"I never wanted to be The-Boy-Who-Lived," he said aloud, feeling tears of frustration start to come. "I never wanted to be in any prophecy. I never wanted any of this. Why me? _Why me?_"

He knew there would never, could never, be an answer. He had tramped this mental path too many times in his lonely nights at the Dursleys, when he couldn't shut the thoughts and emotions out any more with reading or studying. No one could answer his questions. His insides felt tied in knots.

"Harry," said Remus' voice behind him, and he jumped. He had literally forgotten the presence of another person in the room. A hand touched his shoulder gently. "Do you want an old werewolf's opinion?"

"You're not old," Harry protested automatically.

"Thank you. How about it?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure."

"Harry, no one knows why or how prophecy works. Personally, I believe prophecy works partly because we believe it does, and many prophecies have been rather creatively interpreted with the use of hindsight. I assume this is the prophecy we already know partially, which names the one with the power to vanquish Voldemort?"

Harry nodded.

"In that case, you are important in part because Voldemort believes you are. He will concentrate on you to the exclusion of much else that he should be paying attention to. And that will be his downfall. Also, consider this, Harry. He has no friends, only servants, and they serve him out of fear. You inspire people, unite them, lead them, not just because of your scar, but because of what you have done, what you have chosen to do, with your life. You fight the Dark Forces every time you encounter them."

"I had help," Harry said dully. "I always have help."

"Of course you do. Only a fool fights alone, Harry, and you're no fool. Take Neville Longbottom for example. I understand he fought very well at the Ministry."

"He saved my life," Harry admitted. "He poked Macnair in the eye with Hermione's wand."

"Could he have done that, do you think, if you hadn't encouraged him to think more of himself, to have confidence, over the months the DA was active? This is exactly what I mean, Harry. You helped Neville, and Neville saved you. You have the power of friendship on your side. Voldemort lacks that."

Sibyll Trelawney's voice echoed inside Harry's head.

_He will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._

Something inside him eased a little.

"Besides, there's a name for what you're doing right now, Harry. It's called 'borrowing trouble'. I think we have enough trouble around without borrowing any, don't you?" Remus' tone was matter-of-fact, as one man to another, reminding his fellow not to do something foolish.

Harry nodded. Feeling a little clumsy but wanting to show he understood, he put his hand on top of Remus' on his shoulder and squeezed it awkwardly. The hand clasped his, squeezing back, before releasing him.

The knot in his chest untied a little more. Remus cared about him. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione cared. The rest of the Weasleys and the DA cared. He wasn't alone.

_Maybe at the end it will have to be just him and me. But it's not the end yet._

"We kind of got off the topic," Harry recalled, letting down one knee and resting his chin on the other, as Remus sat down again. "We were talking about me being an adult."

"That's right. And how you were confused about it."

"The problem is, I don't even know where to start. What to do. Or what not to do. I always figure out what's childish – five seconds _after_ I do it!"

Remus laughed aloud. "That, I'm afraid, Harry, is a human trait the world over. But I do have a suggestion for something you can do, if you want to show you've truly put your childhood behind you."

"I'm listening."

"You remember I suggested you write a letter to Professor Snape about your feelings on the incident with the Pensieve last year."

Harry snorted. "You really think he'll read anything from me?"

"That depends on how you write it. If I recall correctly, he demands clarity, brevity, and completeness in his essays. Stick to the same three principles in your letter, and he may well read it. I also think you should write to your relatives and tell them, politely, how you feel about the way they treated you."

"What for?"

"Far too many adults, Harry – naming no names – allow things that happened when they were children to get in the way of work that must be done now. I think if you at least make an effort to forgive and forget, you won't regret it."

Harry winced. Remus was saying, indirectly, that if he, Harry, didn't start letting go of his grudges, he was going to end up like Snape – bitter and taking it out on anyone he could.

_Truth hurts, they say. Damn but they're right._

_Whoever "they" are._

"Can I think about it a while?" he asked.

"Of course."

Mrs. Weasley appeared at the door. "Here you are!" she said crisply. "Would you mind telling me why there is a new door in the front hallway?"

"Harry found a way to get rid of everyone's least favorite witch," Remus said, getting up. "We simply removed the wall the portrait was attached to."

"Damaging the house in the process," Mrs. Weasley said severely, but her lips were twitching. "Alastor is here, Remus, he'd like a word. In the kitchen."

Remus hurried out with a brief smile for Harry.

"Harry, dear, I haven't had a chance to ask," Mrs. Weasley said, coming into the room. "Are you all right?"

Harry considered the question.

"Yeah," he said finally. "I think I am. Or at least I will be."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "That'll have to do, I suppose," she said, embracing him for a moment. "Come on, then, lunch will be ready soon."

"Lunch sounds good," Harry said, realizing with some surprise that he was hungry.

_Remus is right. Life has to go on._

He recalled something similar Hagrid had said once.

_What's coming will come, and we'll have to meet it when it does._

Silently, Harry made a promise to himself.

_When it comes – I'll be ready._

-----

(A/N: This was a tough chapter to write. I kept getting lost on tangents. Hope it came out all right. I know there's a lot of soul-searching and heart-to-heart talks in the story so far, but I think that's what Harry needs now, and for a wonder, the people around him are actually giving him what he needs. Don't worry, there will be some action soon.

emikae: That's the problem with dreams. You wake up. ::sigh:: Nope, no future-dreaming here – Carrington's not a real place in Harry's world. The dreams are Harry's idea of "what life would be like if I were normal". He needs one place where he doesn't have to deal with life and death situations, and Carrington is it, though it is shaped by the events of his real life (example, Remus being his guardian instead of Sirius or his parents). Yes, a lot like the "I woke up at Hogwarts" fics, I would guess. (I haven't read any – suggestions for good ones?) I had fun writing the conflict between the two Harrys in Chapter 6, which was minorly revised today to fix a mistake.

MAndrews: Who needs reality when fiction is so much more fun? Thanks!

harryp123: Thanks. I love your reviews... so economical.

cleo2rox: Wow! A newer member than me! Thank you for your enthusiasm, but I don't want to be responsible for any deaths... And if you want me to e-mail you with genealogy stuff about Home At Last, I need your complete address. Should I just use your listed one on your profile?

And for everyone who hasn't noticed, my author info page contains an update schedule, where I state clearly when I will post updates. Extenuating Circumstances remains a "floater" story, which will be updated whenever I get the chance. The other two, I'm trying to keep to schedule on. So please don't pester. The updates will go up on time unless something extreme happens.

Thanks everyone, I love you all! Please, if you read, review! Even if it's short, I love to hear from you!)


	12. Sirius' Will

Chapter 12: Sirius' Will

Over lunch, Remus told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny about Sirius' will, and Professor Dumbledore coming out to read it that afternoon. Hermione had a question.

"Won't Sirius' criminal record get in the way? I mean, would the will still be considered legally binding?"

"I stand by what I said in your third year, Hermione," Remus said, nodding. "We've researched just that point. You remember that Sirius never had a trial. Because of that, he has no legal criminal record, and his will is binding."

"That's ironic," Ginny said quietly.

Harry bit his lip hard. _I will not cry, I will not cry,_ he chanted to himself.

Remus must have noticed, Harry realized, as the man smoothly changed the subject. "So Ron, what were you doing in the music room this morning?"

Ron knocked over his glass, which luckily was mostly empty. "Just looking at stuff," he muttered as he grabbed his napkin and bent over to wipe up the mess.

"Is that why the lid's open on the piano and there's music on the stand?" Ginny inquired innocently.

"All right, if you must know, I was trying to play the piano," Ron grumbled, coming up with a wet napkin and a red face. "I just... I wanted to see if I could, that's all."

"Can you?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "Not really. I figured out what keys play what notes, but that's about it."

"How did you do that?" Remus asked.

"You played a C for Ginny to sing from, and an F for me," said Ron. "I found those keys, and I remembered that it only goes up to G before it starts over, and that sharps are up and flats are down."

"You found those keys?" Remus repeated. "How did you find them exactly?"

"I remembered the notes they played, and I hit keys until I found the right ones," Ron said, as if he were talking to an unusually thick first-year who couldn't remember how to get to the Gryffindor common room.

"You remembered the notes. That's rather remarkable," Remus said. "Tell me, what note is this?" He whistled, a sweet, melancholy sound.

"G," Ron said promptly.

Remus whistled another note. "This?"

"Erm, C sharp. Almost. It's a little flat."

"How are you doing that?" Harry said.

"Can't you hear it?" Ron asked, looking surprised. "I mean, it's obvious..."

Harry snorted. "That's what I said in second year when you asked me what I said to the snake."

"_What?_"

"Harry, that's not nice," Hermione said. "Ron, we can't do that. You have perfect pitch. That's rare."

Ginny sighed dramatically. "Now if that only translated into Quidditch terms..."

Ron threw his wet napkin at her. She dodged, and it scored a perfect hit on Albus Dumbledore, who had just materialized in the middle of the kitchen.

"Sorry, Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly. "I wasn't aiming at you."

"Then it is as well for Gryffindor that you play Keeper and not Chaser, Mr. Weasley," said the Headmaster with a smile as Fawkes flew around him, brushing his wing past the wet spot, causing it to steam and disappear. "Not to worry, no harm done. Are Arthur and Molly here, Remus?"

"They're in the study, getting everything set up."

"Excellent. Hagrid is only a few minutes behind me, and I told Nymphadora one o'clock, so she should be here any moment..."

An extra-loud crack announced three arrivals at once – Tonks, Fred, and George.

"Wotcher, everyone," said Tonks. Her hair was blue-and-gold striped today. "All right, Harry?"

"Fine, thanks," Harry said. "I like the hair."

"You've got taste," Tonks said, grinning. "This is the very latest, this is."

Harry's attention was drawn by a floating speck of dust which seemed to be shining oddly in the light from the fire. It shimmered brighter and larger with every second –

And then it was Hagrid, looking a touch green and wobbly. He dropped a plastic wrapper of some kind on the floor and gratefully sat down on the bench Lupin and Ginny vacated for him. "Hallo, Harry," he said, shuddering a bit. "Blimey, I hate Portkeys. How are yeh?"

Harry smiled at his first wizarding friend. "I'll be all right." Moved by an impulse, he went around the end of the table and hugged Hagrid, or at least as much of him as Harry could get his arms around. Hagrid's massive return hug almost squashed him.

"I think we are all gathered," Dumbledore said solemnly. "Shall we proceed?"

"No need to be unduly quiet," Remus said as he opened the door to the stairs. "The former terror of the hallway is currently inhabiting the attic."

"How did you manage that – ah, I see," Dumbledore said as he noticed the opening in the wall. "Would you like that fixed, Harry?"

"Sir?" Harry said, a little surprised that his opinion was being asked. It wasn't his house, after all. "Er, yes, please."

A wave of Dumbledore's wand and the wall was whole again. The group proceeded into the study, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting on one side of a large table they had apparently conjured up. They must have known how many people to expect, Harry realized as everyone took a seat. There was even an extra-large chair for Hagrid.

Professor Dumbledore sat down at one end of the table. Fawkes perched on the back of his chair. When everyone was seated, he withdrew a sealed scroll from within his robes and tapped it with his wand. The scroll unrolled itself and, to Harry's astonishment, began to speak in Sirius' voice.

"I, Sirius Thomas Black, being of sound body and mind, do hereby revoke all other wills or codicils and declare this to be my last will and testament.

"First, I would like to make a stipulation. Should any of the individuals or organizations mentioned in this will wish to refuse their legacies, I direct that the money or property involved go to my cousin Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco."

Harry and everyone else stared at the parchment, which continued speaking.

"To the Order of the Phoenix, should such a thing still exist at the time of my death, I leave ten percent of the contents of my Gringotts vault, to be used as the head of the Order sees fit. If the Order has been disbanded, this money goes to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"To my favorite cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, I leave five percent of my vault and a letter, currently in the possession of Albus Dumbledore."

Tonks sniffed. Harry handed her a tissue from his pocket, earning a watery smile.

"To Rubeus Hagrid, I leave five percent of my vault, along with Buckbeak the hippogriff and my flying motorcycle, for old times' sake."

Hagrid nodded, wiping his eyes with a hankie the size of a dish towel. Harry rubbed at his own, which were starting to sting. _Sirius had a flying motorcycle? I wonder..._

"To Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age or any other, five percent of my vault and a letter."

Hermione was smiling at the compliment and blinking very hard at the same time.

"To my old friend Remus Lupin, I leave twenty-five percent of my vault, a letter, and my express wish that he be a guardian over my most precious possession, which is not a possession at all, but a person – my godson, Harry Potter."

"Twenty-five percent?" Remus repeated, looking thunderstruck. "But – that's – he can't do that to me!"

"Would you rather the Malfoys got it?" Harry asked.

"Well, no, but..." Remus stopped as the parchment went on.

"To Arthur Weasley and his wife Molly, I leave five percent each of my Gringotts vault and a letter. To each of their children who is currently a member of the Order of the Phoenix or the Hogwarts Defense Association, I leave five percent. To each of their children who is not, I leave two percent. Also letters to Ronald and Ginevra Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley was chalk-white. Fred and George were staring at one another. Ron looked as if he might faint.

"The remaining eight percent of my vault I wish to be held in trust in equal shares for Hermione Granger and Ginevra Weasley, to be given over to them at such time as they fulfill certain conditions laid out in my letters to them. If they do not fulfill these conditions, I wish this money given to charity."

Harry felt an odd mixture of annoyance and relief. _I didn't want Sirius' money... and I didn't get it. **Any** of it. I wonder what he wants Ginny and Hermione to do?_

"To my godson, Harry Potter, I leave the house at number 12, Grimmauld Place, with the request that he allow the Order of the Phoenix to continue to use it as headquarters if the need still exists, and with apologies for the house-elf attached to said house. I also leave a letter, which I hope will say more than I can here.

"Lastly, I have a request. I ask that any memorial services for me be held with a great deal of food, drink, and embarrassing stories about everyone present, including me, since I will be with you in spirit, if not in body. I also ask you not to forget me. The dead are only truly dead when they are forgotten.

"Signed on this fourteenth day of June in the presence of Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore. Sirius Thomas Black."

The scroll rolled itself back up. Silently, Dumbledore began to distribute a handful of letters. Harry passed Hermione's and Tonks' down before receiving his own. Ginny was smiling sadly as she took hers from Hagrid and handed Ron's to him. Mrs. Weasley accepted the one addressed to her and her husband both. Remus had already slit his envelope neatly open and was pulling out the parchment within.

Harry felt an odd tremor in his stomach as he looked down at the letter he held. It had his name on the outside in Sirius' familiar handwriting. _This is it. This is the last I'll ever hear from him._

Harry went out slowly into the hallway, watching Ron run into the music room and slam the door. He suspected his friend was about to cry and didn't want anyone to see it. Ginny and Hermione passed him on their way upstairs, Hermione shivering as if she were freezing and Ginny swallowing hard. Tonks wandered into the hall, looking lost.

"Anyone in the kitchen?" she asked dully. Harry shook his head, and she headed for the stairs, for a miracle not tripping over anything on the way.

Harry went into the front room and sat down on the window seat. Carefully, he ripped open the envelope. Everything around him faded as he unfolded the letter and began to read.

_June 14th_

_Dear Harry,_

_The first thing I want to say is how sorry I am that you're reading this. It means I've died unexpectedly, possibly without a chance to say goodbye. That sometimes happens in war, and I know how it can tear at a person. That's why I'm leaving this in a safe place, just in case, so you'll know what I would have told you if there had been time._

_Next, I want to tell you something I don't think I've ever told you in so many words. I love you, Harry. You're everything to me. You're my only reason for living, for getting up in the morning. I'm rather hoping you'll never read this, as it's becoming far more maudlin than I'd like, but there are no other words to say what you mean to me. _

_I'm sorry if I ever hurt you by comparing you to James. He was like the brother I always wanted, and you are a great deal like him. I want you to know that you have never disappointed me. And you are at least as good as James was on a broom – quite possibly better. _

_I'm sure you'll be grieving when you read this. That's normal. But I want you to understand something. Unless you, of your own free will, pointed your wand at me and spoke the words, you are not responsible for my death and you are not to take the blame. _

_You will always be a center of trouble. It's inevitable. Even if it wasn't for the prophecy and the scar and all, you're curious, intelligent, and brave. You and Ron and Hermione, and Fred and George and Ginny, I should add, make fine additions to the ranks of the Marauders. _

_But Harry, I am an adult. Maybe I haven't had the most normal of lives, but I am of age, and I can take care of myself. I know you, and if I've died in something involving you, you'll never forgive yourself. So consider this a godfatherly order – do it. Forgive yourself. _

_The best honor you can give me is to live. Live and enjoy living. Finish Hogwarts and kill off old Moldie-Wart. Get married to a nice girl, and remember, the one for you may be closer than you think. (James' mother as well as yours had red hair. Keep that in mind.) Have a lot of kids, and name the worst one after me. _

_Oh, and activate the Marauders' Map sometime with the phrase "I solemnly swear that I am up to nothing good." I think you'll like it. _

_I hope you'll forgive me for not leaving you any gold, Harry, but you don't need it, and Moony does. He's needed money for years, and I have more than anyone could ever spend, but he's too proud to take charity, even from a friend. Now he can't refuse, or the Malfoys get the money. I've finally got him in a corner he can't get out of – even if I did have to do it by being dead. It's the best prank I've ever played, so please enjoy it for me, Harry. And take care of yourself._

_All my love,_

_Sirius_

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. In the end, he did both. When he ran out of tissues, he blotted his eyes on the green window curtains.

_These are really ugly. If this was my house, I'd get this room done in red. _

He was about to laugh again when he stopped.

_Wait. This** is** my house._

It was a bizarre thought, but it was true. Number 12 Grimmauld Place did indeed belong to him.

_My house. Maybe... my home?_

Harry shivered at the idea. _No. Not my home. Not yet, anyway. It might become my home someday... but not today. _

_And certainly not while it looks like this._

"Harry?"

He looked up. "Professor."

Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway. "May I come in?"

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore entered the room and seated himself on a chair. Fawkes flew in behind him and settled on the window seat next to Harry.

"Fawkes seems to like you, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I like him, sir." Harry stroked the phoenix, which crooned quietly with pleasure.

"May I ask you an indelicate question, then, Harry?"

"Go ahead, sir."

"Near the end of your second year, in the Chamber of Secrets, your loyalty to me was what brought Fawkes to you. Do you still feel loyal to me? I am not saying, nor do I believe, that you plan to join Voldemort. But I would not be surprised to find that you no longer trust me as you once did. I would greatly appreciate knowing the truth of the matter."

Harry considered his answer carefully. _One chance to say it right. _

"Sir, I believe what you told me in June, and what you said yesterday. You did what you did because you cared about me and you wanted me to be safe. I'll always miss Sirius, and I'll always wonder what it might have been like to grow up in a home where people loved me. But it's over. I can't change the past by being angry. I have people who love me now, and I even have a home. Or at least I have a house. I'm not sure I want to consider it my home yet."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "The house holds many memories for you, Harry, I'm sure."

"That, and it looks like the Slytherin common room," Harry joked, then froze. He had just admitted to the Headmaster of Hogwarts that he knew what the Slytherin common room looked like. _And what do I do when he asks how I know that?_

"That it does," Dumbledore said, and Harry released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

"So I still trust you, sir. I may question what you say a bit more than I used to, but that's a normal part of growing up, isn't it?"

"It is," Dumbledore said gravely. "And you have indeed grown up a great deal in the last month, Harry. I thank you for the gift of your trust. I will not abuse it."

They talked for a while about the new school year at Hogwarts. Dumbledore said something in the middle of the conversation that made Harry almost fall off the window seat in surprise.

"You want the DA to continue, sir?"

"Yes, indeed. I would ask that the name be returned to Defense Association, though. And since the club will now be aboveboard, Harry, perhaps you would consider enlarging your membership."

"Of course, sir. Anyone who wants to join can."

"Even members of Slytherin house?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged. "If they're not there to sabotage us, yes. They can't all be bad. Ron may not like it, but he'll get used to it." Ron's name in conjunction with clubs brought up another thought. "Sir, about Quidditch."

"All decrees passed by Dolores Umbridge, including your so-called 'lifetime' ban, have been revoked, Harry. If the new captain feels you are still able, you may rejoin the team at any time you desire."

Harry grinned. "Thank you, sir. Who is the captain this year?"

"The Head of House appoints the Quidditch captain, Harry. Professor McGonagall will probably be asking one of the older members of the team to see her in her office at some point early in the year."

Something about that teased Harry's memory, but he let it go.

The conversation drifted to the house. Dumbledore officially asked Harry's permission to use number 12 as the headquarters of the Order; Harry gave it gladly. It was something he could do to honor Sirius. Dumbledore also offered the services of the Order to help redecorate the house, and Harry accepted. It was dinnertime when they were finished talking, and Mrs. Weasley, as usual, had prepared an excellent meal.

Ron looked like a victim of shell-shock. He didn't say a word all through dinner. Remus kept staring at the table and shaking his head. Ginny and Hermione were both very pink, getting pinker every time they looked at either Harry or Ron. Tonks was red-eyed but smiling, Fred and George were grinning every time they looked at each other, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were holding hands under the table.

Hagrid hadn't been seen since just after the reading was over. Ginny and Hermione said he'd gone upstairs to Buckbeak's room. He reemerged around pudding time, covered in feathers and fur. "Bin groomin' him," he said, taking the offered glass of spiked pumpkin juice and tossing it back. "Hasn't bin done properly fer a while. Prob'ly not since Sirius died."

The phrase evoked a pang in Harry, but it wasn't the clutching, gripping pain it had been up to this point.

_I'll always miss you, Sirius. But you and Moony are right. Life has to go on._

_And right now, there's a house to renovate._

-----

The next four days were almost inconceivably busy. It was incredible what a bunch of wizards and witches could do if they put their minds to it, Harry discovered. If he had left the house at the start of what came to be called Operation Cleansweep and not returned until the end, he literally wouldn't have recognized the place.

Harry discovered his favorite style of decorating was best described as comfortable but practical. Remus, taking his role as semi-guardian seriously, insisted on keeping a few rooms elegant, but the rest of the house resembled the Gryffindor common room. Large soft armchairs and sofas upholstered in primary colors were accompanied by sturdy coffee and end tables.

The bedrooms, too, bore more than a passing resemblance to Harry's dorm, with their curtained four-poster beds and utilitarian but handsome dressers and desks. Remus offered Harry the use of the large bedroom that had been Sirius', since he was now the master of the house, but Harry turned it down. He did, however, spend an afternoon going through Sirius' things, putting a lot away to look at later, and finding one item that made his heart twinge more than a little, which he took back to his room and slipped into his trunk.

Admittedly, more of the house was done in red and gold than any other colors, but there were a number of rooms in blue and bronze, yellow and black, or other combinations. Harry had even left one of the elegant rooms green and silver. The hallways were done in a simple off-white, and Harry took great pleasure in removing the house-elf heads and other unsavory items himself.

The kitchen was brightened quite a lot by clean walls, a new table, and the addition of a magical window such as Harry had seen at the Ministry of Magic. Winky came on the second day of the operation to do a few things house-elf magic was especially designed for, such as cleaning out the chimney. Harry was rather relieved to be needed at the other end of the house the entire time she was there. One house-elf worshiping him was his limit.

Harry also noticed his friends whispering a lot in corners. He was never in on these collaborations, which irked him somewhat, but he decided to let it go. It was hard, especially when Ginny or Hermione looked in his direction and giggled, but he was practicing holding on to his emotions.

One of the Weasley parents was always absent from Headquarters. As Ron told Harry, "Now that we've got some gold, they want to get the house fixed up. It's really been needing it. And we have to get it done right away..." He stopped and blushed faintly, whether from remembering that his family had so recently been poor or from remembering the source of their money, Harry didn't know.

Finally, on the afternoon of July 30th, everything was done. Harry took a stroll around number 12, enjoying what he saw. The house – his house – was clean, comfortable, handsome, and to his taste. It might even, possibly, be starting to be able to be called his home.

Harry went to bed earlier than anyone else that night, at the urging of Mrs. Weasley, who said he looked worn out. He was tired, so tired that he was sure he wouldn't dream. After all, he hadn't the last four nights.

The last thing he was aware of was irritation that his hand wouldn't stop stinging.

-----

(A/N: LONG chapter! Sorry, everyone, but I had to get all of this out there before the all-important Chapter 13!

So what _does_ Sirius want Ginny and Hermione to do? And what did he write to Ron that has him so shaken up, or to Tonks to make her smile and cry at the same time? I'm thinking of writing a separate fic, "Letters from Sirius", where you get to read them all. Want me to?

Happy birthday Fran Anderson on October 15! Rivers Hall celebrated in the traditional style – a fire alarm!

Credit where credit's due: Many thanks, Quillian (formerly Kraeg001), for letting me borrow some of your ideas and phrasing for Sirius' will. Everyone else: read his fic "Heir of Gryffindor" if you haven't already, it's excellent. Also, the renovation of the house was inspired by Lady Alchymia's "Harry Potter and the Emerald Tablet".

emikae: Thanks for the recommend. Remember, Carrington's not real – to Harry. And Hogwarts isn't real to us. ::sniffle::

MAndrews: I am severely flattered.

harryp123: Thanks dude.

Kraeg001: You guessed it! Good work! And music will be a big part of this fic. Oh, special sneak preview – all lovers of Neville's boggart from PoA, keep reading!

AKA Hummer: I was worried about whether or not that scene was too stupid, but I thought it worked, and I guess you agree. Thanks for the feedback. Remus is one of my favorite characters too, but I have so many!

Keep R&Ring please! Your reviews are the only way I know what you want!)


	13. Welcome Home

Chapter 13: Welcome Home

Harry was somewhere he had never been before, somewhere big and dark and confusing and cold. His hand was stinging as if someone were pricking him with needles of ice. It felt like a summons, a call that he had no choice but to obey. He took one faltering step, then another, and suddenly there was terrible pain in his head, red-hot pain that blasted him backwards through the dark and the cold...

-----

Harry was standing in a wood-paneled room. Two figures, hooded and cloaked, knelt before him.

"You may speak," he said in a cold, high-pitched voice that chilled him as he heard it coming from himself.

"Karkaroff has been found," said one of the figures, in a male voice that Harry found familiar but was unable to place.

"Excellent. Where is he?"

"They are bringing him to you as we speak, my lord," said the other figure. This voice, a young woman's, was also familiar, and for some reason it made Harry's stomach churn.

"Ahh, no, my little one. You must not call me that. You remember, I have adopted you as my own, since you have tried so hard to please me. What must you call me, my daughter?"

"I will always try to please you, my father," said the girl, her voice breathless with some emotion. Joy? Fear? He couldn't tell. Either would do.

"Now, tell me what I should do with Karkaroff," Harry hissed. "You, my little prince, you speak first."

"Pain is the best teacher, my lord. Karkaroff will not stray again if you show him what pain truly means. The Cruciatus Curse works wonders on weak fools."

"My daughter, what say you?"

"Karkaroff expects pain. He has steeled what little will he has against it. Counteract his will, my father. Remind him that he is your puppet. Let him live for a time under the Imperius Curse, doing nothing without your assent, and he will serve you faithfully."

Harry felt himself laughing, laughing at the eagerness the children showed to outdo one another in his service...

_NO!_

The fabric of the world ripped and twisted. He was falling, falling...

-----

Harry landed hard on a floor covered with thin carpet, winding himself.

The carpet was a diamond pattern, he noticed in passing, as he got his breathing started again. And the wall was green.

_Green?_

He looked around. He was on his hall at Carrington, outside Matthew and Bradley's room.

Relief washed over him. _I'm safe here. Whoever that freak was, he won't find me here._

_No one bad can find me here._

"Hem, hem."

Harry gasped as his hand surged with pain.

_I was wrong._

He scrambled frantically to his feet. Dolores Jane Umbridge was standing in the hall, between him and his room. She had her wand in her hand and a horrid smile on her wide toady face.

Harry felt as if he couldn't quite look at her. The air seemed distorted around her, as if she was bending reality simply by being there.

"Well, Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise. Or perhaps not a surprise. I have been waiting for you, after all. Don't you know it's impolite to make people wait?"

She stepped forward. Harry stepped back.

"Are you afraid of me?" she asked softly. "You should be. It's good for children like you to fear the adults in power over them. It makes them more willing to obey, more tractable. You have not been tractable, Mr. Potter. But when I finish with you, you will be. I give you my word on that. Now, come here."

Harry shook his head dumbly. His vocal cords seemed frozen, his muscles unresponsive. _This can't be happening._

"Very well, then, if I must use force, I must. _Accio_!"

Harry managed to dodge as the Summoning Spell shot at him, stumbling backwards out of the way. But he knew he couldn't run forever. It was even possible that her next spell would catch him, catch him and pull him to her, and then she would begin doing whatever it was she planned to do...

_Somebody help me,_ Harry thought desperately, watching Umbridge advance slowly, horrific smile widening with every step. _Somebody, anybody..._

A door opened beside him. Fran Anderson's door.

"What's going – " she began. Then she noticed Harry, and the look on his face of utter terror.

With one lithe motion, Fran reached across the hall, caught Harry's wrist, and executed some kind of complicated spin, pulling him into her room and landing herself in the hallway. "Get me the phone," she said softly.

Harry looked around her room (decorated in a far nicer shade of green than the hall) and spotted the cordless phone on the windowsill. As he crossed the room to get it, he heard Umbridge's voice.

"Excuse me, young woman, what do you think you are doing?"

"What do you think _you _are doing, Madame?" countered Fran. Harry turned around and saw that she was standing almost nose-to-nose with Umbridge, looking down at the older woman with a severely annoyed expression, hands on her hips so that the black duster she was wearing flared out somewhat. "I've never seen you here before. Why are you terrorizing one of my residents?"

"One of your... residents?" Umbridge seemed nonplussed. "I am Dolores Jane Umbridge. The boy you just dragged in here happens to attend a school of which I am headmistress. He has run away. I am here to bring him back."

Fran raised her eyebrows and gave a not-quite-mocking smile. "I am Francesca Anderson, RA of 1st Gardner, and the _young man_ in my room lives on this residence hall. He attends Carrington College, which I doubt you are head of. And he most certainly has not run away. Now, you have two choices, Ms. Umbridge." Her pronunciation of the name dripped scorn. "You can leave. Or I can call Security and have you escorted out." She extended her hand and Harry gave her the phone. "You have until I count to three. One."

"I will not be treated in this manner," Umbridge said stiffly.

"Two."

"You have not heard the last of me!"

"Three." Fran pressed a button on the phone, and Umbridge whirled around and flounced away, moving surprisingly fast for having such stubby legs.

"Thanks," Harry said as Fran came into the room.

"You know her?" Fran said curiously, replacing the phone on its silver cradle.

"I told her a truth she didn't want to hear. She has a grudge against me."

"She must, to follow you here. And I _will_ call Security, to give them her description. They'll be on the lookout for her. Anyone else you want to tell me about?" Fran's tone was light, but her gaze was direct and penetrating.

"One person," Harry said, remembering where he'd been only a few moments before. "A man, tall, thin. Scary-looking. Very pale, bald, with red eyes. He might wear a cloak with a hood." It sounded ridiculous, he knew even as he said it, she was going to laugh at him...

"Sounds pretty nasty," Fran said with no trace of mockery. "OK, I'll call them both in. You deserve to feel safe around here. You all right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, finding his breathing returning to normal, his heart slowing back down. "I'll be OK."

"That's good. Hey, didn't you make choir yesterday?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah. First time."

"Then you better hurry. Rehearsal starts in 15 minutes."

Harry looked at the clock. She was right. "Thanks!"

He hurried to his room to get his keys and ID, wondering who Fran reminded him of.

_A professor, I think. Someone I used to have at my old school. _

_Doesn't matter. I have to get to practice. My first choir practice ever!_

He headed for the swinging doors.

-----

"There you are!" exclaimed Hermione as Harry turned the corner into the hallway where the choir room was.

"We've been waiting almost half an hour," Ginny said. "What kept you?"

"Long story," said Harry, finding himself reluctant to discuss it. "Shall we?"

There was a large set of shelves directly to the right of the entrance. On the ends were posted lists, in alphabetical order, of the choir members and their folder numbers. Harry ran his finger down the list and found himself at number 23. Ginny and Ron were 36 and 37, and Hermione was number 14.

He pulled out folder number 23. It was blue leather, with "Carrington College Choir" stamped on the front in gold. Inside were a number of pieces of sheet music. Harry riffled through them. _Hmmm... "Bring A Torch, Jeannette, Isabella", I think I've heard of that. "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" too, and "Angels We Have Heard on High". But what's "A Joyous Christmas Song"?_

"Why are we singing Christmas music?" Ginny asked. "It's September."

"The concert is around Christmas time, so that's what we sing," Erica replied, entering the room and pulling folder number 13 out of its slot.

"Is it just me, or do these words look funny?" asked Ron, flipping through a copy of "A Joyous Christmas Song".

"It's in Norwegian," Erica said.

"I don't speak Norwegian!"

"Neither do I. Don't worry, Big Guy will help us sound it out. We did Japanese in women's choir last spring. Something about fireflies, with the parts – first soprano, second soprano, alto – singing the same thing, but one beat off from each other. Felt like singing a ping-pong match."

Hermione smiled. "I wish I could have heard it."

"I'll play you the song sometime, I got the CD," Erica said. "They record all the concerts. Come on, let's see where we're sitting."

Harry found his seat, between a tall boy and a serious-faced blond girl, just as Big Guy climbed up to his conducting platform and sat down on the chair there.

"Everyone stand up," he proclaimed. "For you new people, we open rehearsals here at Carrington with a little ritual. We rub the shoulders of the people next to us, then we turn around and do it again. It helps everyone relax and the singing muscles loosen up. If you don't want to, go sit down now, no one will hold it against you."

No one moved.

"Turn to your left, then, and get going."

Harry had never had anyone rub his shoulders before. It felt wonderful, even if it was a strange girl who was doing it. _Wonder if Ginny would do this for me sometime?_

"Reverse," Big Guy called, and everyone turned around.

The boy now behind Harry gave a more energetic massage than the girl had. He felt as if his shoulders were being mauled. But when Big Guy said, "That's enough, sit down, everyone," Harry discovered that all the aches he'd been half aware of in his back were gone. He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the relaxed feeling.

Big Guy led them through a series of warm-ups, singing vowel sounds, syllables, silly sentences, even numbers. Then he turned around and took something off the stereo system behind him. It was a large charcoal starter, such as people used to get barbecues going.

_Looks like he's found a new metaphor for this year. _

"This is your throat," Big Guy said, brandishing the charcoal starter, and everyone laughed. "All right, it's not your throat. But pretend it is. This is the amount of room you want around your voice. If you think of your throat as being this large, this roomy, your sound will improve tremendously."

That was only the beginning. Under Big Guy's system, vowels had shapes. "Ah" was short and fat, "oh" was tall and thin, and "oo" was taller and thinner yet. All the other vowels one could sing were either twins to those or fell between them. And the strange thing was, it all made sense.

They started learning "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" that night. Harry had heard the piece before, but he had never known that it was based on ancient chants. The arrangement they had called for the men to sing the melody of verse 1 in unison, then move into harmony on the chorus. The women would sing the melody of verse 2 while the men sang a counterpoint, and then all four parts would finally do full harmony on that chorus. Finally, the women would do counterpoint for the last verse, while the men sang the melody again.

_This is really nice. I wonder if the four of us could do it without the rest of the choir. _

Besides "O Come" and the other music Harry had already looked at, the choir would be doing two carols with the community chorus, "Caroling, Caroling" and "Sing Noel". And there was one other thing to learn.

"Everyone take out the white sheet at the back of your folders. This is the Carrington Alma Mater. We don't do this in concert, but afterwards, we come to the stairwell right back here and sing it, so you do need to know it."

Hermione stuck her hand up. "Why in the stairwell, sir?"

About three-quarters of the choir laughed. Harry figured those were the returning members, who knew the joke. Personally, he didn't see what was funny about the question. Why would someone want to sing in a stairwell?

"Do you sing in the shower?" Big Guy asked.

"My dad does," Hermione said.

"Why?"

"Well, because it reverberates really well... oh, of course!"

"Exactly. The stairwell has the same effect. Let's try the Alma through a couple times, and then we can go try it out."

The harmony seemed pretty simple, just four parts all the way through. Harry had never sung the piece before, but a lot of the other basses obviously knew it well, so he was able to keep up by half sight-singing, half listening.

_Carrington College, yonder on the hill,_

_Through all the years, our hearts are turning still_

_In love to thee, and so they ever will._

_O, Alma Mater, Beatissima._

"Sounds good," said Big Guy after the third time through. "Let's go."

Harry saw a lot of big smiles as the choir headed en masse for the door to the stairwell. "I love the stairs," a soprano said to her neighbor.

"Oh, me too. Gotta love the echoes."

"And when we get right in tune... oooh, just feels like the building's going to come down!"

"As Big Guy says, 'wah wah wah wah wah.'" The girls giggled.

"I wonder what the resonance note is in here?" said Erica, coming through the door behind him.

"Resonance note?"

"Places with a lot of echoes, like stairwells or bathrooms, will have one note they resonate to better than others. That's what that 'wah wah wah' thing means. It really does feel like the place is going to shake apart – you can feel the vibrations everywhere. Like magic."

"As a matter of fact, Gorilla, it's B flat in here," said Big Guy as the choir arranged itself around the edge of the stairs. "Shall we try it?"

Erica smiled. "Considering I've never heard an overtone... why not?"

Big Guy blew a tone from his pitchpipe. "Everyone sing this note, in whatever register you feel comfortable."

Harry sang, and all at once he understood. The walls were indeed shaking so hard it was almost visible. From somewhere, some trick of the sound waves, he thought, other notes seemed to appear, as if invisible people were singing with them. Even after they stopped, Harry could feel the note resonating in his bones. It felt like the heartbeat of something larger than himself, as if he were only part of a greater whole.

"That was amazing," he said quietly to Erica and Hermione.

"Wait till we sing the Alma," Erica answered with a wink.

She was right. The simple hymnbook tune was transformed by the echoes of the space. It sounded majestic and grand, like the college it praised.

_I most definitely like it here,_ Harry decided.

-----

He returned to Rivers with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Erica after practice was over. They walked into Gardner to find Edith and Anna practicing their sparring in the hallway.

"Must you?" Erica said irritably as Anna dumped Edith onto her back.

"Yes, we must," Edith said from the floor. "Where else are we supposed to practice? This hall doesn't have a lounge."

"You could always do it in the room," Erica said. "You're going to scare people."

"Who cares?" Anna inquired. "We'll move if they need to get by, but we live here, so we're allowed to use the space however we want. And you love watching us, don't try to deny it."

Erica rolled her eyes. "Fine. Just don't blame me when someone calls Security on account of the chicks beating each other up in the hall." She opened her door, then paused. "Anyone up for pasta?" she asked the foursome. "I had a meeting right before rehearsal, so I missed dinner."

"I could handle that," Harry said, realizing he hadn't eaten.

"Ron can always eat," Hermione said. "It's a Weasley family trait."

"A _male_ Weasley family trait," Ginny corrected firmly as Ron gave Hermione an affectionate shove. "But I could use a snack. What kind of pasta?"

"Just with red sauce. That ok?"

"Sounds excellent," Harry said, following her in. "Hi, Lanie."

"Hey, Harry," Lanie said from her computer in the corner. "Ron, Hermione, Ginny, do any of you like swimming? I'm going to the gym later tonight."

"Oh, I love to swim," Hermione said. "But I have chemistry to do. Maybe another time?"

"Sure. Anyone else?"

"I'll give it a try," Harry said. "I'm not much good, though."

"I can teach you, then. I never made it through lifeguard training, I'm too little, but I think I can keep you from drowning."

"Can I come?" Ron asked. "I'm pretty decent."

"Don't be so modest," Ginny said. "You swim like a fish. One that's been dead two days."

Ron snatched a pillow from the futon in the middle of the room and smacked his sister with it. She grabbed another one, and that was all it took for a full-scale pillow fight to erupt. Ron actually knocked Harry over at one point, so he elected to remain on the floor for a while.

He was next to a rather messy corner of the room, Erica's from the look of things. There was a stack of library books sitting on the floor beside a laundry hamper and a pile of sheet music, graded papers, shoes, and assorted other items. The top book on the stack had an interesting picture on the front – a young woman in a black ball gown with wings affixed to the back, on the arm of a man in armor wearing a feathered cape. The title, in raised letters, was _The Black Swan_.

Harry opened it to look at the information on the flap.

_Baron Eric von Rothbart... sorcerer, hates all women... keeps a group of maidens enchanted into swan-form... they can only be women when the moon is up... their queen is named Odette... and his daughter Odile is a sorceress who can take the form of a black swan whenever she wants... great, Odette and Odile. That would drive me nuts. How are you supposed to keep them straight?_

He turned to the back flap and winced. _Oh. You're not. And Prince Siegfried is in for a rude awakening when the girl he thinks is Odette the swan queen, the one he swears to love and marry, turns out to be Odile the black swan in disguise!_

"Ahh, Mercedes Lackey," Erica said, dodging a swipe by Lanie and kneeling down by Harry. "You're wise to be down here. She's one of my favorite authors. This is part of her fairy-tale adaptation series. The source for this is the same as the ballet _Swan Lake_. Except with a better ending... 'scuse me, please, I need to check my messages?"

Harry moved out of her way as she sat down at her computer. Her desktop was blue, with a message written in red across it.

"What does that mean? 'Home is the place where you know the stories for everything'?"

"Well, I've always heard 'Home is where the heart is' and 'Home is where you hang your hat', and it all seemed kind of silly. So I made up my own. Home is the place where you can say, 'Look, this is the blanket my mom made me, and this clock was a present on my birthday, and my friend gave me this picture she took because I said I liked it.'"

"That makes sense," Harry said, thinking back over his life. "But really, the only place I've ever been able to say that about is here."

"Well, in that case, welcome home," Erica said, smiling at him. "If you'll excuse me again, the water should be boiling by now..."

The pasta, with Erica's father's homemade red sauce, was quite good. A refreshing change from the dining hall food, Harry thought. Garritty's and Rivers weren't absolutely horrible – the food would keep you alive, and it even occasionally had some taste – but it didn't compare to... his other school.

_One of these days I am going to think hard about that and remember why I keep forgetting. But not tonight._

Tonight he was going to go swimming, and then he was going to do some reading for his theater class, and then he was going to go to bed...

-----

"Ssshh, you'll wake him up!"

"I thought that was the point."

"But not before we're ready, you idiot!"

"Mmmm?" Harry said sleepily. "Whozair?"

"Just me, mate," Ron said in a super-innocent voice, the kind he only used when he was trying to hide something. "Go back to sleep."

"'Kay." Harry rolled over.

He was just drifting off when he remembered hearing more than one voice.

He sat bolt upright just in time.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" shouted five voices at once.

-----

(A/N: Read carefully... I'm being JKR-ish and hinting like crazy in this chappie!

An overtone, in case you don't know, is a tone produced when you play or sing two tones that are precisely an octave apart. It's the fifth of the chord, and it's caused by the interaction between the two sound wave forms. That's all I know. And no, I never have heard it. I still think Big Guy's making it up.

AKA Hummer, MackenzieW: Thanks to both of you!

emikae: I don't know whether to be jealous or worried about your dreams. I think I'll settle for jealous.

Lady Cinnibar: ::bats eyelashes, looks innocent:: Yes, they are – see next response. And basically, if I write about it, it happened, in one form or another. Keep that in mind for some of the crazier things that will come up later. And if college is easy, I don't think I want to know what hard is...

Lanie: Thanks! Does this mean I'm safe from o-chem book concussions? I kept my promise last night, didn't I? (And see, I put more of you in this chapter. I _do_ listen to you sometimes.)

MAndrews: ::blush:: You and Tanydwr on my other fic are going to spoil me with your excellent reviews! I think you noticed every major point I tried to put in that chapter, _and_ you like it! I'm so enthused! Memorial service not this chapter (obviously), nor the next... but soon. Possibly Chapter 16ish. And if you can't figure out what _is_ going to happen next chapter...

harryp123: An extra sentence! I'm honored!

The response for Letters from Sirius was highly positive, so yes, I will write it... but it may take some time. I'm hoping to update Extenuating Circumstances first. So please be patient.

I heart you all! Enjoy much!)


	14. Day of Surprises

Chapter 14: Day of Surprises

Ginny, Fred, Ron, George, and Hermione were standing around Harry's bed, grinning at him. The twins began to caterwaul.

_Happy birthday to you, _

_You live in a zoo..._

Ginny punched one twin and Hermione punched the other. Both twins rubbed their arms and looked hurt. Ron hummed a note, and everyone joined in, including Remus, who was leaning against the doorframe, looking amused.

_Happy birthday to you,_

_Happy birthday to you,_

_Happy birthday, dear Harry, _

_Happy birthday to you!_

_May you have many more,_

_Till you're hundred and four,_

_Happy birthday, dear Harry, _

_Happy birthday to you!_

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" they all shouted again.

"Thanks," Harry said, hoping his voice wouldn't crack and show how close he was to crying. He'd hoped someone would remember, but he hadn't expected anything like this...

Ginny leaned in close to him. "Do you know what the birthday boy needs?" she said silkily.

"Oh, I know what he needs," Hermione said teasingly, also leaning in.

"Birthday kisses!" they exclaimed together, and kissed Harry on both his cheeks at the same time.

Harry felt a blush starting that would easily rival any of Ron's. "Er, thanks. I think."

Hermione giggled. "You should really have sixteen of them. One for every year."

"No, seventeen," purred Ginny, sitting down on the bed. "One to grow on. But we'll leave you alone for right now."

Harry appreciated that, because he felt that if his face got any hotter, he might set the bed on fire.

"Shoo," Remus said firmly. "Everyone out. Let the man get dressed. He can't spend his birthday in his pajamas."

Ron and the twins left, tossing "Happy birthday, Harry" over their shoulders. Hermione gave him a quick hug before she left. Ginny stood up, then suddenly bent down, kissed him again, and scampered out of the room, giggling madly.

"Are all girls mental?" Harry asked.

"At this age, yes," Remus said, closing the door. "Many happy returns, Harry. I wanted to give you my special wishes, since I'm the only one left who came to your first birthday party."

"My first birthday party?" Harry repeated.

"You did have one, you know. Very small and private, since you were only a baby. More for the adults, really. Peter couldn't come, so it was just me, Sirius, James, Lily, and you." The faraway, remembering look came into Remus' eyes. "You got me in the face with a handful of cake, as I recall."

"I threw my birthday cake at you?" Harry was torn between embarrassment and amusement.

"You threw it everywhere, but you hit me. Don't worry about it, it was a long time ago," Remus said, smiling. "I only wish we had gotten a photograph... actually, I think Sirius took one. It may be around here somewhere."

Harry looked down at the bed. "I wish he was here," he said, trying to keep the tears under control. _He'll never get to throw me a birthday party... _

"So do I," Remus answered softly. "So do we all."

A tear made its way out of Harry's eye despite his best efforts. He sniffed, and Remus handed him a tissue. "Thanks."

Remus sat down on the bed next to Harry. He didn't try to talk, or do anything. He was just there.

No one had ever just been there for him before, Harry realized. It sometimes felt like everyone had a demand for Harry Potter. Everyone expected him to do something or be something, even the people who cared about him. But Remus wasn't demanding anything. He was just sitting there, being with Harry.

_Because he loves me. And he knows what I need right now is someone to just be with me._

"Maybe we can go photograph-hunting after breakfast," he offered after a few moments. The tears hadn't lasted nearly as long as he had expected. _Sirius didn't want me to cry all the time. I have to grieve, but not every minute._

"Maybe." Remus was smiling as if he knew something that Harry didn't.

_Hmm. Wonder what's supposed to happen after breakfast?_

"Come on, Harry, you do need to get dressed. Unless you want them to drag you downstairs in your pajamas."

Harry smiled, knowing the twins were capable of just that. He got out of bed, put on his glasses, and was just about to take off his pajama shirt when Remus put a hand on his shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Harry," he said quietly, and pulled him into a hug.

Harry hugged back, feeling better every minute.

_So this is what it's like to have someone who really cares..._

-----

Ron and the twins had been dressed in a casual, but not sloppy, style when they had woken him up. Harry decided to emulate them.

He only wore Dudley's castoffs at Privet Drive, so his aunt and uncle wouldn't know he had another source of income. One of the first things he'd bought his third year, when he'd been free of Diagon Alley for two whole weeks, had been a new wardrobe, and he'd renewed it every year as necessary. Luckily, he hadn't grown much over the year since he'd been there last, so his "good" jeans (the one pair without any holes in them) and red collared shirt still fit him decently.

He wondered why he was taking pains with his appearance, since the only people likely to see him all day were the Weasleys, Hermione, and the Order members.

_It's a special day, so I want to look special,_ he decided.

After brushing his teeth and running a comb through his hair in a token effort, he pulled on his trainers and went down to the kitchen.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley the moment he walked through the door. She hugged him tightly. "I've made all your favorites, do hurry and eat. There isn't much time."

_Much time for what?_ Harry wondered, but he was hungry, and anything Mrs. Weasley made was likely to be one of his favorites. Breakfast took priority over curiosity.

Ron kept sneaking looks at his watch, Harry noticed as he worked through his eggs, and Hermione seemed unable to sit still. Fred was shredding a piece of toast, and George was collecting the fragments and reconstituting them with his wand. Only Ginny seemed relaxed – she was sitting by the fireplace, petting Crookshanks.

As soon as Harry put down his fork and drank the last of his tea, Mrs. Weasley nodded to Fred and George and hurried out of the kitchen.

"What is going on?" Harry demanded.

"Nothing bad," George said, swapping looks with Fred. "Are you ready for your first present, Harry?"

"I think so," Harry said, a little unsure of the wisdom of accepting a gift from the twins.

Ginny got up and came to stand between her brothers. Ron and Hermione closed in on either side of Harry, so that they formed a rough circle.

"You have to close your eyes," Fred said, "and not open them till we say so."

"It's not a prank, mate, really," Ron said earnestly. "You're going to love it."

"I'm so reassured," Harry said sarcastically.

"It's true, Harry," Hermione said. "Would I lie to you?"

Harry sighed. "Do you really want me to answer that, Hermione? All right, what do I have to do?"

"Like I said, close your eyes, and stick your hand out. That's right," said Fred, as Harry followed his directions. "Now, grab onto what I give you, and hold on to it."

Harry opened his hand and felt something cool and smooth slip into it. He closed his fingers on it.

"Now, just wait for exactly... one minute and three seconds," George said.

It was a very long minute, Harry thought. Far too long for a minute.

What were the twins planning? How had they gotten Hermione to go along? Ron would gladly prank him, even on his birthday, but would Hermione? And how was Ginny involved?

_What is going on here?!_

"Open your eyes, Harry," Fred said, and Harry gladly did just that.

Nothing had changed. He was still in the basement kitchen at number twelve Grimmauld Place, holding on to some kind of carving on a chain, connecting it to other things which the other people in the circle were holding on to...

"Portkey travel stinks when you've got your eyes shut," Fred added, and before Harry could assimilate that, he was doing it, with the usual jerk behind the navel and mad rush of colors.

_I think I may end up with Hagrid's opinion after all. Where are we going anyway?_

They landed, Harry managing by some miracle to stay on his feet. They were in a dark room, a room that had a familiar smell...

A room with giggling people in it...

"SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" shouted a chorus of voices as the lights flicked on.

He was in the living room of the Burrow. Bill and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, along with Remus, Moody, and Tonks, and –

Harry stared in happy surprise. Almost the entire membership of the DA was present – as far as he could see, only Marietta Edgecombe was missing – _and she probably wasn't invited._ Most of them were flocking forward, slapping him on the back and shouting, "Happy birthday!" and "Many happy returns!" and "Cheers, Harry!"

The boys were slapping him on the back, that was. Even as he realized who they were, Parvati and Padma Patil ambushed him exactly the way Ginny and Hermione had.

"Gah!" Harry rubbed his cheeks frantically.

"Awww," Parvati said. "That's so sweet. You're rubbing it in."

Harry felt himself turning red.

"That's enough, now, girls," said Mrs. Weasley, bustling forward. "Harry, dear, Arthur and I want to give you our present first. Is that all right?"

"Sure," Harry said.

"Turn around, then," she said, smiling broadly.

Harry turned. Behind him was the Weasley family clock. It had a hand for each member of the family, pointing to the different locations where those people were... but something was different about it...

It took him a moment to find it.

"You've... you've put... but that's me," he said in disbelief, staring at a new hand on the clock. It was clearly labeled "Harry Potter", and it was pointing to "home".

"It's only the truth," Mrs. Weasley said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder for a moment.

"We should have done it long ago," Mr. Weasley said, shaking Harry's hand warmly. "Welcome to the family."

Harry didn't know what to say. Fortunately, it seemed the look on his face made words unnecessary. The Weasleys pulled him into an enormous hug as Mrs. Weasley kissed him on the cheek. Ginny and Ron attached themselves to the outside of it, and then Fred and George and Bill had to get in on it as well, and Hermione got pulled in somehow, and everyone else started clapping and cheering...

Somehow it all got sorted out, and Harry found himself ensconced on the couch, with a pile of presents, just beyond his reach, looking very interesting. "We'll hand them to you," Hermione said, slapping his hand as he reached for them. "Don't be greedy."

Harry made a face at her.

"Hello?" called a woman's voice from the kitchen.

"In here, Minerva," called Mrs. Weasley.

Professor McGonagall came into the living room, followed by Hagrid, carrying a couple of packages. As usual, he made the room seem smaller the moment he came in.

"Happy birthday, Harry," he said, beaming as he sat down on the floor.

"Yes, felicitations, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Are those for me?"

"No other birthday boys 'round here, are there?" Hagrid asked.

"Actually there is," Hermione spoke up. "It was Neville's birthday yesterday."

Neville Longbottom gasped and stared at Hermione. "How'd you know that?" he demanded.

"You mentioned it once," Hermione said, "but I'd almost forgotten until now. So happy belated birthday, Neville."

Of course, then, everyone had to say it, and Harry, grinning, started singing "Happy Birthday", and everyone took it up, with the word "belated" crammed in any way people could fit it, and everyone ended up laughing.

"You can have anything you fancy out of that," Harry said, waving a careless hand at his presents.

"Hoy, that's not fair!" protested Seamus Finnigan. "Neville went in like everyone else on the –"

Dean Thomas slapped a hand over Seamus' mouth and grinned apologetically. "All the guys in the DA went in on one of your presents, Harry. That's what Seamus is _trying_ to say."

"Gerroff," Seamus growled good-naturedly, shoving Dean away.

"I think that I will invoke my privilege as your Head of House, Mr. Potter, and ask that you open my gift first," Professor McGonagall said, handing Harry a card. "This gift is also partly from Miss Bell."

"Katie?" Harry looked across questioningly at Katie Bell, who smiled and nodded at him.

He tore open the envelope. The card bore a picture of a Golden Snitch, fluttering its silver wings. As he opened the card, something almost fell into his lap. He caught it reflexively and stared at it. It was a golden C, the kind he'd seen sewn on Oliver Wood's and Angelina Johnson's Quidditch robes.

_No way. She can't want me to..._

He looked down at the card.

_Harry –_

_It has been a pleasure having you in my house for the last five years. You are a true Gryffindor and an excellent Quidditch player. Miss Bell has declined the captaincy of the team, so by seniority, it now passes to you. I am sure you will make a fine captain. _

_Yours truly,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

Carefully, Harry closed the card around the golden letter. "Professor," he said, "could I see you for a moment? Alone?"

"Certainly, Mr. Potter." McGonagall looked confused.

In the hallway, with the door shut, Harry said the thing that had come to his mind first when he realized McGonagall was appointing him captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "Professor, I can't take this."

"Why not, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm not the best qualified candidate, ma'am. Ron is."

McGonagall's eyebrows went up. "Mr. Weasley has only a year's standing on the team, Mr. Potter. You have four – three of actual play, since there was no Quidditch your fourth year – "

"But Professor, Ron's a better strategist." Harry wouldn't have dreamed of interrupting McGonagall in class, but this wasn't class, and he was frustrated – how could she not see what was so clear to him? "Don't you remember our first year, with your chess set, going after the Stone? That wasn't me, that was him. He's the best chess player I know, he flattens me every time we play. He could do the same with the team, I'm sure of it."

McGonagall was looking carefully at him. "I see," she said slowly. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Shall I inform Mr. Weasley, or would you like to?"

"May I?"

"Of course."

As Harry turned to go back into the living room, he thought he heard her say very softly, "You have a good heart, Harry."

_Nah, I must have imagined it. She never calls me Harry._

He came back into the room beaming. "Hey, Ron – happy un-birthday."

"Ah, thanks, mate," Ron said, looking a little self-conscious now that everyone was looking at him. "What does that mean?"

"Well, it's not your birthday, but I thought I'd get you something anyway. Open your hand, and close your eyes, and you will get a big surprise," Harry chanted, grinning.

Ron, looking dubious, did what he was told, and Harry placed the golden C in his hand. "Open up."

Ron had no trouble recognizing it.

"Harry... you... you mean I... Professor, _really_? I mean, you're not just having me on?"

Professor McGonagall smiled. "No, Mr. Weasley, this is quite genuine. Mr. Potter insists that you would be the better captain of the two of you."

Ron slowly closed his hand around the golden letter, then suddenly leapt off the couch and tore out the door toward the kitchen. A moment later, Professor Dumbledore came in by the same door, looking somewhat perplexed.

"Happy birthday, Harry," he said, handing Harry an envelope. "May I ask why Ronald is shrieking and running laps around the house?"

"He's just happy," Harry said, ripping open Dumbledore's card. "I gave him something he's wanted for a long time..."

He stopped. The envelope was heavier than it should be. As if there was something inside it.

Harry pulled the card slowly from the envelope – a roaring lion – and tipped it. A shining, red-and-gold badge fell into his hand. The kind he'd been secretly wanting, trying not to envy Ron for having, for a whole year...

"What about Ron, sir?" he blurted, staring at it.

"Ronald will continue to be a prefect, Harry, as will Miss Granger. I feel that Gryffindor house needs more visible leadership than usual in this time of trouble." Dumbledore beckoned Harry close and added quietly, "And you seemed to want it very much."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, carefully pinning on his new prefect badge as the DA broke into applause. "You won't regret it."

"My other gift to you, Mr. Potter, is more in the light of returning something that was already yours," Professor McGonagall said. "Madam Hooch took the liberty of caring for it, it was a bit out of condition after being in the dungeons..."

Harry eagerly ripped the wrapping paper off his Firebolt, which had been lovingly polished and trimmed until it looked as good as new. "I'll be sure to thank her, Professor," he said, running his hand lovingly along the handle. "And thank you, too, very much."

"What about ours?" protested Cho. "When are you going to get to these?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming, don't get your knickers in a twist," Harry said, then realized who he was talking to and turned crimson again amid general laughter. "Erm, what should I open first?"

"Well, this is from us and Lee," Fred said, handing him yet another envelope.

"Why does everyone seem to like them small and flat?" Harry asked, ripping it open. This card was an ad: _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, 93 Diagon Alley: Grand Opening Soon!_

Harry flipped it open to discover a slip of parchment. He read it to himself, then looked sharply at Fred.

"No way," he said. "No way are you doing this to me."

"Oh, yes, we are," Fred said.

"No, you're not," Harry said firmly.

"No more arguments, it's yours and that's final," Fred said, folding his arms.

"What is it?" asked Ron, coming back in, flushed and grinning.

"These idiots are trying to make me a partner in their business," Harry said, waving at Fred and George. "They've just given me 10 percent of their company."

"We wouldn't be asking you to make any decisions," Fred said. "You'd only need to show up on payday."

"And you're not giving it back, so don't even try," George said.

"Ten percent is a good deal," Lee Jordan said. "I'm a full partner now, and I own ten percent. We're going public after the grand opening – 50 percent of the company will be for sale. That's for any of you who happen to have some money to invest and want a sure thing," he added, looking around. There were signs of interest on many faces.

"You deserve it, Harry," George said persuasively. "Without you, it would never have gone anywhere." Mrs. Weasley looked sharply at her sons but didn't say anything.

Harry sighed. "All right. Fine. You win. Who's next?"

"This one's just from me," Fred said, reaching into the pile and extracting a rectangular package.

"You got me something else?" Harry asked, surprised. "I mean, thanks, but I wasn't expecting..."

"Just open it," Fred said.

Harry tore a swath of paper away from the front.

His father and Sirius looked up at him, waving and grinning.

His breath caught as he ripped away the rest. It was a framed photograph of Remus, Sirius, and his father, standing side by side and waving, occasionally shooting off a few sparks with their wands. Across the top, in red letters, was printed:

_The Marauders: The First and Original. _

_We only follow where they led._

Across the bottom, it read:

_Rest in peace, James Potter. _

_Rest in peace, Sirius Black. _

_You are never forgotten._

Remus' signature crossed one corner of the photo, with the dedication "To Fred and George Weasley and Lee Jordan – the next generation of Marauders."

"That goes in the store at Grand Opening, Harry," George said. "D'you like it?"

Harry nodded, watching the Marauders wave at him. "It's brilliant." His throat was seizing up again, he couldn't cry at his own birthday party...

"Mine next," Remus said quickly, stepping forward to pull an oddly bumpy bundle out of the pile. "Happy birthday, Harry, and many more to come."

The bundle wasn't badly wrapped, Harry discovered, just curvaceous. Flat on top and bottom, curved around the sides... and it was in a case, he saw as he pulled away the wrapping paper, a case of black leather... _but he can't have remembered, I only said it once, and so much happened in between..._

Remus _had _remembered. Harry snapped open the case to reveal the golden sheen of a guitar. He put it carefully aside and threw his arms around Remus. "Thank you so much," he whispered.

"Consider it from all of us," Remus whispered back. "All the Marauders. They would have loved to hear you play."

It was exactly the right, or the wrong, thing to say, and Harry's tears almost escaped him, but Ron and the other male members of the DA started clamoring for him to open theirs next, and he didn't have time.

There had obviously been planning behind this party. The combined gift Seamus had almost revealed was a magical amplifier for Harry's new guitar, so that he could play rock songs as well as acoustic. George handed him a handwritten voucher good for a year of lessons. Then the girls started piling small packages in his lap. Every one contained sheet music. Harry knew a few of the names on the covers, names of bands or performers, names of musical plays, but many of them he had never heard of.

"We all got you our favorites," Cho said as he opened hers. It was entitled _Best Love Songs of the Musical Theatre._ "I hope there aren't too many repeats, we couldn't coordinate as closely as we would have liked, there wasn't much time..."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, smiling at her and feeling something akin to his old thrill at her return smile. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, smiling more brightly than ever as he blushed.

"Here you go, Potter," said Moody, stumping forward and handing him a box. Inside was something that looked like a crooked gold TV antenna, which Harry thought he remembered from his fourth year, and Moody identified a moment later, as a Secrecy Sensor. It would tell him if there was anyone around concealing something.

"Wish I'd had it _before_ today," Harry said, glaring at Ron and making everyone laugh.

Hagrid gave him an enormous box of Noruca's Noisy Sweet Treats, which made you emit noises when you ate them. Harry tried one and found himself whistling like a train. Neville got one that made him roar like a lion, and Ginny picked out one that had her mewing like a kitten. When Ron patted her on the head, she stomped on his foot.

After Ron got done hopping around the room, Ginny handed Harry a package. "This is from me and Colin," she said. "We worked on it together some last year, and then he finished it for us these last few days."

It was a photo album of the DA. Harry hadn't realized Colin had taken pictures at the meetings, but there he was, standing in the Room of Requirement and lecturing, correcting people's stance and grip, dueling with various members, and in the last photo, producing his stag Patronus. It was practically a pictorial record of everything he could do in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Harry found it a little embarrassing, but he discovered he was proud of himself as well.

_I'm actually good at this. Maybe I have a chance at being an Auror after all._

"Thanks, Colin, Ginny. This is great. Oh, yeah, official announcement," Harry said, remembering. "The Defense Association lives."

There was massive cheering.

"It's now an official school club," Harry continued. "Anyone who wants to join can join. So tell your friends."

"And I guess I'm last," Tonks said, extending a box towards Harry. He reached for it, and she pulled it back, grabbed his wrist, pulled him toward her, and kissed him on the cheek while everyone hooted.

"Thanks a lot," Harry said sarcastically, feeling the heat rise to his face and snatching the box out of her hand. He opened it to find another box, this one brightly colored, with the signature three W's on its lid. The cover read:

_Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' Metamorphmagus Mints! _

_Surprise your friends, trick your enemies!_

_Appear as anyone you choose!_

_Less dangerous than Polyjuice Potion!_

"Try one," Tonks said, blushing a bit herself. "They're all labeled, you can tell what they do."

Harry pulled out a "blond hair" one and sucked on it. It was extremely small and melted in his mouth almost instantly, leaving behind a pleasant mint taste. He didn't feel anything, but a few people gasped, and Cho shrieked, "Oh my Lord, he looks like Malfoy!"

"I do not," Harry started, when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. "All right, maybe I do, a little," he admitted.

"Those could be dangerous!" Moody growled at the twins. "Are you selling them to the general public?"

"No, sir," Fred said quickly. "This is part of our restricted collection. Only DA or Order members are allowed to buy them, or even know about them."

"All right," Moody grumbled, "but I want to be briefed on how to recognize them at work ASAP, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Fred said seriously.

"I thought you'd like them, Harry, after the way you complimented my hair and all," Tonks said.

"I love them, Tonks, thanks a million, but is there any way to make them _stop_?" Harry asked plaintively. "I don't _want_ to look like Malfoy."

Everyone laughed. "There's reversers in there, they're labeled too," George said, pointing them out. Harry ate one, and his hair returned immediately to normal.

"Phew," he said dramatically, pretending to wipe his forehead. "A few more minutes of that, and I'd be looking for a green and silver tie and spewing rubbish about purebloods."

"Harry, would you call Malfoy a rival of yours?" Fred asked.

"A rival? At Quidditch, sure. Maybe in class. Why?"

"Try one of the ones marked 'Peppermint Nemesis'," Fred said, plucking one from the box. "Please? We want to make certain they work."

"You want me to _test_ one of your products? Do I look totally insane?"

"It's not like that," George said. "We know it'll change what you look like, and we know we can reverse it. We're just not quite sure if it does exactly what we had in mind."

"Well, what did you have in mind?" Harry asked.

"Just try it?" Fred asked, batting his eyelashes. "Please?"

"Only if you stop doing that," Harry said, shoving Fred backwards into Angelina's lap. "All right, I'll try one."

This time, he felt a slight tingling on his face as the mint dissolved in his mouth, and everyone in the room gasped. Cho had her hand to her mouth. "I take back what I said before," she said in awe. "Now you _really_ look like Malfoy."

Harry turned to face the mirror and stared. If he hadn't known it was a mirror, he would have sworn it was a portrait of the blond Slytherin, doing everything he did just to annoy him. It was exactly the kind of thing Harry would have expected a portrait of Draco Malfoy to do.

"I am very impressed," he said in Malfoy's voice, causing another round of gasps. "Incredibly grossed out, but impressed."

"They do work!" George exulted. "We spelled them so you'd turn into whoever you consider your biggest rival. Want a reverser now?"

"Yes, _please_," Harry said emphatically. He quickly ate the mint George handed him and watched with relief as the sneering features in the mirror blurred back into his own familiar face.

"If you ever run out of reversers, the effects wear off in a half-hour," Lee said. "At least they're supposed to. I had a bad reaction once, got stuck with blue hair for about a day, but that was the worst of it."

"Why don't you show us what that looked like?" Harry said, pulling out a "blue hair" mint and tossing it to Lee.

"Well, if you insist..." Lee popped it in his mouth and swallowed. A moment later, his hair was a vibrant shade of azure. Katie Bell looked fascinated.

"Hey, can I have a try?" asked Seamus.

"Sure, everyone have one," Harry said, putting the box on a low table. As he did, he noticed Angelina whispering something in Fred's ear, pointing over at Lee. Fred turned first scarlet, then pale, and said what sounded like "Are you sure?" Angelina nodded firmly. Fred looked utterly disbelieving for a moment, then his face became speculative, and he beckoned George and Alicia over.

"RON!" Hermione shouted, jerking Harry's attention back to the main group of partygoers, who now had hair all the colors of the rainbow and a few that weren't.

He stared at the person he assumed was Ron. He had to assume, because to all appearances, it was Viktor Krum.

_Ron considers Krum his biggest rival? For what?_

"Ronald Weasley, do you still think there's something going on between him and me?" Hermione demanded.

_Oh. Of course._

"Vell, you try von!" Ron demanded in Krum's voice, pointing at the box.

"Fine," Hermione snapped, picking out a Peppermint Nemesis. "I will."

She quickly chewed the mint and swallowed; her hair went in an instant from brown and bushy to silver-blond and straight, her face blurred and settled, and Hermione was a double of Fleur Delacour.

The real Fleur walked into the room at that moment, saw Hermione, shrieked, and ran back out. Bill quickly followed her as the rest of the party recovered from fits of laughter and Ron and Hermione reversed their changes, both looking rather embarrassed.

Fleur's gift to Harry was a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. He wasn't sure if this was a comment on his appearance or not, but he thanked her for it anyway. She beamed and kissed him on each cheek, reminding him of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, when he had felt as if steam was shooting out of his ears. Then someone started a sentence with the words, "Hey, do you remember..."

Funny stories about the last school year took up the rest of the time until lunch, which was, of course, excellent. It featured a huge chocolate cake, and everyone sang to Harry again before he blew out his candles. Afterwards, there was an enormous game of Quidditch, Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Professor McGonagall was nice enough to enchant the paddock where they played with a Repelling Charm, to keep the Bludgers and the Snitch within bounds, so they could play full-on without worrying about the balls getting away.

Fred was missing the Bludger occasionally, Harry noticed, and Angelina had dropped the Quaffle once already, something she never did normally. Obviously something was on their minds. But it wasn't his problem. He went back to looking for the Snitch and keeping an eye on Cho, who was Seeking for the other team.

About forty minutes later, Ron yelled, and Harry twisted around to see a speck of something gold fly past the goalpost Ron was guarding. He shot that way with Cho in hot pursuit. There was no huge point margin for either team, so the game was up to them. Almost a year without his broom was catching up to Harry – his arms and legs were tired after two and a half solid hours aloft. But then singing from the sidelines caught his ear:

_Potter is our king,_

_Potter is our king,_

_For he can always catch the Snitch,_

_Potter is our king..._

Harry put on an extra burst of speed; as the Snitch darted sideways towards Cho, he looped her once, causing her to pull back in surprise, and snapped his hand shut around the tiny ball.

"AND POTTER TAKES THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!" shouted Lee Jordan. The Gryffindor spectators broke into cheers as Harry turned to Cho.

"Good game," he said.

"Yeah," Cho mumbled, her face turned away. "You too."

"Rematch during the school year," Harry pointed out. "I'm back on the team."

"See you there, then," Cho said with a small, tight smile. "And next time I'll be ready for anything. I suggest you do the same."

She flew past him quickly, brushing her lips against his cheek as she did.

"Er, thanks," Harry called after her, and sent his Firebolt into a dive.

"Oy, Harry, you stole my song!" Ron shouted in mock-indignation as he touched down.

"No, we both stole Malfoy's song," Harry reminded him as Katie grabbed him and kissed him, with Angelina and Alicia right behind her, making him blush for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "Wonder how he felt about it when they turned it into a victory anthem?"

"Hey, it's even more true now than it was then," Katie said, laughing. "Because you're captain now. All together, everyone..."

Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs joined in.

_Weasley is our king,_

_Weasley is our king,_

_He never lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley is our king..._

They paraded back down to the Burrow, singing lustily.

-----

_This is the only way to spend a birthday_, Harry thought, lying on the floor of the living room at Grimmauld Place after dinner and half-listening to Ron and George debate about Quidditch. _Though I do wish Sirius could have been here. _

Tears threatened, but a new thought appeared that gave him pause. _In a way, you could say he is here. "The dead are only truly dead when they are forgotten," he said, and I'm not forgetting him – I'm doing what he wanted me to do. I'm living and enjoying myself._

_Nothing is more important than that._

Someone shrieked in the hallway. Harry sat up, startled, as Alicia burst in through the door, followed by six owls, all carrying letters. Each one flew to a different person in the room – Angelina, Alicia, Lee, Harry, Ron, and Hermione – and dropped the letter in their laps.

_Why would we all be getting letters at the same time?_ Harry wondered. He picked it up and looked at the return address.

It was from the Wizarding Examinations Authority.

A dead silence fell in the room.

"Oh Merlin," breathed Lee, holding the envelope as if it might explode.

"I don't think I can open it," Alicia squeaked.

"What is it?" asked Ginny.

"Results," Hermione said, staring at her envelope. "O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results."

"Well, we can't just sit here all day," Harry said impatiently, sticking his finger under the flap of the envelope and ripping it open.

_Ordinary Wizarding Level Testing Results Report_

_Name of Student: Harry James Potter_

_Results_

_Astronomy: Acceptable_

_Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding_

_Charms: Exceeds Expectations_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding_

_Divination: Poor_

_Herbology: Exceeds Expectations_

_History of Magic: Dreadful_

_Potions: Outstanding_

_Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations_

_Total results: 7 pass, 2 fail_

Professor McGonagall's voice resounded in Harry's ears.

"_Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than 'Outstanding' in their O.W.L.s..."_

She had, to his mind, slammed the door on his hopes of becoming an Auror that day. To become one, he would need a N.E.W.T. in Potions. To get a N.E.W.T., he'd have to take the upper level class. And to get into the class... well, she had said it. But Harry had hoped, he had studied and worked his hardest...

_And I did it. _

_I DID IT!_

"Er, Harry?" said Ron in a very odd voice over the sound of ripping parchment. "Would you read this for me and tell me if it really says what I think it does?"

Harry accepted Ron's parchment from his shaking hand and looked it over.

_Ordinary Wizarding Level Testing Results Report_

_Name of Student: Ronald Bilius Weasley_

_Results_

_Astronomy: Poor_

_Care of Magical Creatures: Exceeds Expectations_

_Charms: Acceptable_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding_

_Divination: Dreadful_

_Herbology: Acceptable_

_History of Magic: Poor_

_Potions: Outstanding_

_Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations_

_Total results: 6 pass, 3 fail_

"Ron, this is great!" Harry said enthusiastically.

"The line about Potions," Ron said weakly. "What does it really say?"

"'Potions: Outstanding,'" Harry read aloud. "Ron, you did it!"

Ron moaned, looking as if he were about to faint.

Hermione scrambled over to them, her face alight with glee. "Harry, good work! I knew you could get it, I just knew it!"

"No, this is Ron, not me," Harry said.

"_Ron?_" said Hermione, her jaw dropping.

Harry's hand went to his prefect badge, and he grinned, struck by a strong sense of déjà vu. "I've got one too," he said, handing their O.W.L. results to Hermione. "How about you?"

"O's in everything," she said absently, scanning the reports. "Oh Harry, this is wonderful! We'll all be able to go on together!"

"Together?" Ron asked, snapping out of his daze with a jerk. "Hermione, what are you planning on doing?"

"I want to be an Auror," Hermione said as if surprised Ron should even ask. "What else would I be?"

"Well... I guess I always thought you'd do something a little more... I don't know, studious?" Ron said slowly. "It's really dangerous, you know. Look at Moody. Look at all of them. I thought you'd probably be a historian, or a teacher, or something like that."

"Well, I might end up teaching," Hermione said. "I mean, there's no law that says you have to do what you start with for always. But I want to stay with you two. You're my best friends. And besides, we're all going to have to fight, with the war starting again, so I thought I might as well be ready for it."

"_We'll_ be ready for it," Harry said firmly. "All of us."

"Oy, Harry!" Lee shouted. "O in Defense, mate! All thanks to you!"

"Us too!" chorused Angelina and Alicia, grinning. They swooped down on him and kissed him, one on each cheek.

"OK, enough with the kissing," Harry said firmly, feeling his cheeks heat up again. "I think I've had my limit for the day."

"Not quite," Ginny said. "You've had your sixteen, but you need one more. To grow on."

"What've you been doing, keeping track?" Harry asked, astounded.

"Yes," said Ginny matter-of-factly, walking over to him and stopping right in front of him, so that he had to look directly into her eyes. "Congratulations, Harry. Happy birthday."

She leaned forward and kissed him, on the cheek, very softly.

"Get a room, you two," George said, pulling Alicia onto his lap.

"You should talk," Ginny retorted, making everyone laugh.

"C'mon, let's find Mum," Ron said. "She'll be over the moon."

"Remus too, I bet," Harry said, leading the way out of the room. "Of course, he's always a little moony..."

Then he had to run.

-----

(A/N: OK, yes it's long, but I couldn't exactly cut it down, it's all important, or fun... and people seem to like longer chapters, so I hope you like this!

Thanks to everyone!

MackenzieW: It gets that way in football season around here.

MAndrews: I will never praise your reviews again if that's the reaction I get!

Lady Cinnibar: **_Yes_**, I want to hear this – 40 pages in an hour and a half?! And yes, Umbridge is severely confused at this point. She will be more confused in future chapters. Heh heh heh.

emikae: Bet you've gotten good at ducking. Just hang in there. ::chants with you:: Three more years, three more years...

Lanie: And what exactly is he going to do? Sit on my keyboard and look menacing?

harryp123: Yes, the Carrington scenes are dreams, sorry if I confused you.

Oh yes, and if the Noruca's Noisy Sweet Treats sound familiar, they're a direct steal from the PoA movie. Any guesses on the origin of the name Noruca?

Big hugs to all my reviewers! Please send me love and honesty, I need it!)


	15. Day of Excitement

Chapter 15: Day of Excitement

Harry was running, running down a stone corridor. His feet hit the cold stone rhythmically, in time with the music he was following.

_How did I get here? I remember going to bed. Ron was going to stay up and read a while, Hermione and Ginny were still giggling next door..._

But that didn't matter. He had to get where he was going. His clothes didn't help – he was wearing dress robes, but not the green ones he'd worn to the Yule Ball, no, these were red, heavy red material that weighed him down and made it hard to run...

He rounded a final corner and saw the open door to the dance hall, flanked by a pair of stone gargoyles. Couples were already dancing inside, twirling briskly around the floor. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley go past, followed by Remus with a brunette woman he didn't recognize, and then Cho dancing with a tall boy whose face Harry couldn't see.

He was late, he had to get in, she would be furious with him...

He hurried through the door.

Or tried to.

The gargoyles' arms shot out, barring his way.

"I have to get in!" Harry snapped. "Let me through."

One of the gargoyles sniggered. "Oh, I don't think so."

"You can't go in there," said the other.

Harry spotted Ron and Hermione halfway across the floor. He waved, but their eyes were locked on each other. "My friends are in there. Let me in!"

"You're not allowed," one gargoyle explained.

"Though I'm sure you wish you were."

"That dance is only for the dead."

"And you're not dead. Not yet." Both gargoyles laughed.

"The dead?" Harry stared. The people in the room didn't look dead. They looked alive, alive and happy...

But even as he thought that, the music slowed into a parody of the gay waltz tune it had been, and the movements of the people in the room slowed with it. Their faces, a moment ago alight with laughter, lost all animation and became slack and dull. Cho turned with her partner, allowing Harry to see his face – it was Cedric Diggory, staring over her head, directly at Harry.

"You let me die," he said coldly. "You didn't even try to help me."

The dance swept them along, another couple took their place – a woman Harry didn't know, and –

"Sirius!"

"Go back to your life," Sirius said with a sneer on his face. "You don't care about me. You never did. You're worse than Snape – at least Snape didn't try to hide how much he hated me."

They were gone, but the Weasleys were right behind them.

"We welcomed you into our family, and you gave us death." Mrs. Weasley scowled at him.

"We should have known better," said Mr. Weasley sadly, shaking his head. "You bring death everywhere you go."

They danced off as Ron and Hermione came into view.

"You stood my sister up," Ron said angrily. "You told her you'd come, and you didn't." He waved across the room to where Ginny sat, her face woebegone, her hands in her lap.

"They won't let me in!"

"You could always find a way," Hermione said distantly, sounding a bit like Luna Lovegood. "A potion, or a knife, or your enemy's wand. There's always a way in. If you're brave enough to take it..."

"Do you like it, Potter?" said a cold, sneering voice from behind him.

Harry spun around on his heel and found himself face-to-face with Lord Voldemort.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"One of my favorite places to come," Voldemort said with just a hint of laughter in his voice. "Of course, ideally, you would be in that room as well. Do you want to go in?"

Harry glanced behind him. Ron and Hermione were gone, lost in the mass of dancers. He saw flashes of faces, movements, figures he could almost name, but a moment later they were gone in the crowd again. Only Ginny still sat against the wall, eyes fixed on the floor.

_Everyone I care about is in that room. Why shouldn't I go too?_

"Why? Can you get me in?"

"Easily," Voldemort said. "But not from here."

He snapped his fingers. The room, the walls, everything vanished. They were standing on top of a precipice.

"A test of your courage, my proud young Gryffindor," Voldemort said almost lazily. "Jump from this cliff. If you have the courage to fall all the way to the ground without screaming, you can take your place in the Dance of the Dead."

Harry stepped up to the edge. The wind ruffled his hair, pulled at his robes.

_Just get it over with. I'll be with everyone again, and nothing bad can happen to us – what could be worse than being dead?_

He was about to leap when he heard something. One clear, true, sung note, echoing as if in some enclosed space. In a voice he knew.

_Ginny!_

"Sounds good," said another voice, a girl's voice he couldn't quite place, followed closely by a splash.

_A splash?_

"What are you waiting for, Potter?" Voldemort asked.

"Shut up," Harry snapped, listening more closely.

Another splash. Someone sneezed. "This stuff burns!"

"Of course it burns, Ron, it's got chlorine in it – "

Several doors seemed to slam open in Harry's mind, and he realized all at once what was going on, and what he was about to do.

_This is a dream. It has to be. Ron and Ginny and Hermione aren't dead, neither are the Weasleys, and Cedric and Sirius wouldn't want me to blame myself for what happened. _

_And Voldemort almost got me to kill myself! Even in a dream, that wouldn't be good – it might transfer over into real life, and I'd die just because I thought I should!_

"This is your last chance, boy," Voldemort hissed. "Are you going to go or aren't you?"

_I think I can turn this to my advantage. He doesn't know I know it's a dream. Maybe I can play with that._

"I'll go," Harry said slowly, thinking furiously. "I just want to get ready first."

He kicked off his shoes and began to pull his robes over his head. It was a matter of moments to strip to his boxer shorts.

_But this is the wrong material. It needs to be more... I don't know, more plastic, maybe?_

He concentrated on what he knew about what he needed, and felt the shorts change a little on him, becoming a different fabric, with more of a sheer feeling to it.

_That's right. And I won't need my glasses, either._

He pulled them off and threw them carelessly on top of the pile of his robes.

"Excellent," Voldemort said with a triumphant sound to his voice. "Any last words?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Go jump in a lake."

Thinking hard about where he wanted to be when he landed, he turned, took two running steps, and leaped, yelling.

"YAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

He fell through darkness into light, through cold wind into warm and humid air, and landed with a huge splash in the deep end of the Carrington College indoor swimming pool.

He came up next to Edith, who was treading water, and pushed his hair back from his face, elated. _It worked! It really worked!_

"Not too bad," Edith said, giving him an affectionate shove. "But you didn't yell right. Don't you know what to yell when you go off a diving board?"

"No," Harry said, paddling a bit awkwardly to the ladder. Ron and Ginny, he noticed, seemed to be trying to drown each other at the other end of the pool.

"Let me show you." Edith climbed out behind him and went up the diving board ladder like a monkey. Once there, she balanced on the edge a moment, then leapt up and slightly out, pulling knees to chest, wrapping her arms around them, and screaming like a mad thing.

"CANNONBALLLLLLLLLLL!"

The wave reached the other end of the pool.

"Very nice," said Lanie, who had come out of the locker room just in time to see the splash. "I wonder how many Waldos are in this pool?"

"How many what?" Ron asked, surfacing beside them just in time to hear this.

"Waldo is her pet water molecule," Edith said, rolling her eyes.

"Should we even ask?" said Ginny.

"I do chemistry," Lanie said. "So I have a molecule model kit. I made a water molecule, and it was so cute that I wanted to keep it for a pet. And I named it Waldo."

"And she claims it can bite," Edith chimed in. "It hasn't got a mouth! How can it bite?"

"_He_ can bite if I say he can," Lanie growled, catching Edith in the face with a handful of water.

Edith's retaliation got a bit boisterous, and Ron and Harry couldn't let it go unchallenged. A full-scale water fight developed, with no clear teams or rules – simply splash your neighbor before he, or she, splashes you.

It was exactly what Harry needed. By the time they got out of the pool, he had almost forgotten his earlier dream. _After all, **he** can't come here. He doesn't even know about it._

His mind was occupied for the rest of the evening with simple things, such as reading two acts of _Twelfth Night_ for his theater course, taking a shower before the 10 o'clock rush, watching _Star Wars_ with his friends, and getting his fair share of the peanut butter chip cookies Lizzie had made.

He went to bed with no feeling of peril, no sense of warning, nothing, which he would later remember as decidedly unfair...

-----

"YOU GOT _WHAT_?!"

Mrs. Weasley's scream echoed through the house. Harry almost fell out of bed. Ron actually did.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS WITHOUT TELLING US?"

Harry only stopped for his glasses, not even bothering to put on shoes.

"HAVE YOU NO CONSIDERATION WHATSOEVER?"

He pelted down the stairs, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny seconds behind.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT YOU WOULD BE SO CALLOUS – "

Harry flung the kitchen door open.

" – AS TO GET MARRIED WITHOUT EVEN INFORMING YOUR OWN MOTHER!"

"Married?" Ron repeated incredulously into the silence which followed this. "Who got _married_?"

Harry stepped aside so that Ron could see, as he could, Fred and Angelina, standing hand in hand and looking distinctly unhappy with the situation.

"Oh," Ron said.

George and Alicia were hovering a safe distance away, appearing torn between wanting to help and wanting to stay as far away as possible from Mrs. Weasley in her current mood.

"We would have told you, Mum," Fred said soothingly. "Honestly, we would. George and I had it all planned out."

George nodded vigorously. "We were going to propose right after the Grand Opening, and then have a double wedding sometime in September."

"But, well, Angelina and I kind of had to speed things up," Fred finished.

"And why is that?" Mrs. Weasley demanded.

"Angelina... well... we, er..."

Fred faltered, blushing, and Angelina squeezed his arm.

"Let me tell it, sweetheart?" she asked. Fred nodded gratefully, stepping back.

Angelina smiled at the older witch. "Mrs. Weasley – I'm pregnant."

Hermione gasped, Ginny squealed, Ron stared at Fred in shock, and Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing in Mrs. Weasley's face – she looked as if someone had dropped a brick on her foot.

"Oh," she said dazedly. "Oh. My. Well, that does put a different light on things. When, dear?"

"April," Angelina said, caressing her stomach. "Some time in April."

"This is wonderful!" Ginny said excitedly, hugging her. "I'm going to be an aunt!"

Mrs. Weasley embraced Angelina as well. "A grandchild," she said, beginning to smile. "My first grandchild. Congratulations, my dear – my dears," she corrected, pulling Fred into the hug. "But none of you are to do _anything _like this to me ever again!" she added over Angelina's shoulder to the other children.

"Way to go, Fred," Harry said, shaking the twin's hand after his mother let him go.

"Mum's taking it awfully well," Fred confided. "I'm a little worried. D'you think we've upset her for good?"

"Your mum's pretty strong," Harry said. "It's Ron I'm worried about."

Ron hadn't spoken since the second announcement. He was staring from Angelina to Fred and back again, as if trying to correlate something.

"But," he finally stammered. "But... if she's... then you...you'd have to be..."

"That's right, ickle Ronniekins," Fred said, pulling Angelina into a tight embrace. "You do know where babies come from, don't you?"

Ron reddened and fled the kitchen precipitously, followed closely by a scarlet-faced Hermione.

"They're really going to have to get over that," Ginny said. "Or any child of theirs will be born with a permanent blush."

Everyone laughed as Remus came down the stairs into the kitchen in his outdoor cloak, newspaper under his arm. "Where were Ron and Hermione going in such a hurry?" he asked.

"I think they're trying to hide from the facts of life," said Harry, grinning. "Angelina and Fred just got married."

"Congratulations," Remus said, shaking hands with Fred. "On such a historic day, too."

"Historic?" Mrs. Weasley said sharply.

Remus smiled, with more than a hint of predator in his eyes. "Have a look."

He unfolded the _Daily Prophet_ to the front page. Thick black headlines met everyone's eyes.

_**VOTE OF NO CONFIDENCE IN MINISTER FUDGE**_

_**General Election to Be Held Today**_

_In a move which stunned the wizarding world, Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Madam Athena Fleming, Secretary for National Defense Against Dark Wizardry, today published a petition, signed by a majority of sitting department heads, which constitutes a vote of no confidence in Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge._

"_We feel that Fudge's actions, first in allowing the wizarding community to believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had not returned when in fact he had, and second in taking a bribe from a known sympathizer of said Dark wizard, are foolish at best, treacherous at worst, and in all cases inconsistent with the trust we need in the holder of such a high office," Madam Bones said when interviewed._

_Minister Fudge's office declined comment. _

_A general election for Minister of Magic will be held today at all wizarding polling places. Contact your local authorities for more information..._

"YES!" George shouted, pumping his fist toward the ceiling. "Death to Fudge!"

"Political death, at any rate," Remus agreed. "He'll never get re-elected, not with the Malfoy bribery story all over."

"But – I thought Athena Fleming was helping him," Harry said, confused. "What's she doing kicking him out?"

"I have no idea," Remus said. "Far be it from me to judge the actions of Hell-Raiser Theenie."

"_Who_?"

"That was her nickname at school. We were in the same year, but she was a Slytherin. Never a Death Eater, though," Remus added quickly. "She was one of the decent Slytherins. They do exist, believe it or not."

Fred and George were doing a war dance like they had done the previous summer, only now the chant was "_Fudge is out, Fudge is out, Fudge is out –_ "

"I wouldn't begin celebrating just yet," said Albus Dumbledore from the kitchen doorway. "The election is yet to come."

"Yes, Albus, I wanted to ask you," Mrs. Weasley said. "If you're elected again – "

"I will refuse to serve, as I have in the past, Molly," Dumbledore said. "I have already informed the polling places to distribute information to that effect."

"All right, then, who would you recommend?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"As it happens, I have an expert on that subject with me," Dumbledore said. "Some of you may have already met her."

He stepped out of the doorway, revealing a tall, brown-haired witch who appeared to have her nose permanently in the air, and who looked annoyingly familiar to Harry.

Ginny gasped and took two quick steps back.

"Miss Weasley, I am not in the habit of hexing innocent children, however it may seem to you," the witch said crisply. "I must apologize for my actions of last month – your presence nearly disrupted one of the most crucial missions I have ever been on, and I was extraordinarily annoyed. You have suffered no ill effects, I trust?"

Ginny shook her head wordlessly.

"Good." The witch turned to the rest of the kitchen. "Athena Fleming," she said. "Former Secretary for National Defense against Dark Wizardry."

"Former?" said Fred.

"I have resigned from my post, for reasons of my own," Madam Fleming said, pinning him with a _don't-ask_ look. Fred gulped a little and nodded.

"Molly Weasley," said Mrs. Weasley, moving forward to shake hands. "And my children, Fred, and his f..." She caught herself. "His _wife_ Angelina, my son George and his fiancée Alicia Spinnet, and my daughter Ginny, and this is Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter." Athena Fleming surveyed him coolly. Harry had a feeling he was being analyzed, taken apart and put back together, and he didn't like it at all. "A pleasure," she said in a tone that indicated it was anything but.

"It's good to see you again, Theenie," Remus said from behind her.

She turned partway toward him and smiled, a slow, deliberate smile. "Well, well, well. The Full Moony."

Remus' eyebrows lifted. "I can't believe you remember that," he said in a very, very polite voice.

"Oh, I remember," Madam Fleming purred. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Pardon me," Remus said in a strained tone, and left the room abruptly.

_What was that about?_

Harry didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Madam Fleming said sharply, "Not your business, Mr. Potter. Now, I believe you wished my help in informing the _adult_ members of this Order about the candidates for the election, Headmaster?"

_Somehow I think I'm not wanted here._ Harry headed for the door out of the kitchen, Ginny behind him.

"What was she talking about?" Ginny said as soon as the door was shut behind them.

"I don't know, but we can always ask," Harry said, climbing the stairs.

Remus was sitting at the desk in the study with a quill in his hand, frowning at a piece of parchment. "Are you busy?" Harry asked, sticking his head through the door.

"No, not really. Let me guess – you want to know what she meant?"

Harry and Ginny nodded.

Remus sighed. "This goes no farther – well, you can tell Ron and Hermione, that's inevitable, but no one else, _especially_ not the twins – understand?"

A trickle of glee ran through Harry's mind. _This should be good._

"When we were at school together, I played a prank on Athena once that turned her hair red and yellow and made it stand on end like a candle flame for a full day – to tease her about being called 'Hell-Raiser'. So she took advantage of _my_ nickname." Remus closed his eyes, his face reddening. "She bribed Peter to take a picture of, shall we say, a pertinent portion of my anatomy, blew it up, made copies, and posted them all over the school."

Ginny had both hands clapped over her mouth. Harry felt as if he might explode if he didn't laugh soon.

"The music room is soundproofed, if I recall correctly," Remus said, smiling slightly and turning back to his work.

Ginny beat Harry there by a fraction of a second. Harry slammed the door shut; they looked at each other and proceeded to laugh themselves sick.

"What's so funny?" said Ron's voice from somewhere in the room.

"Ron!" hissed Hermione's voice from the same general direction. "Shut up!"

"What are you two doing in here?" Harry asked when he'd caught his breath.

"None of your business," said Hermione as haughtily as she could manage while crawling out from underneath a grand piano.

Harry and Ginny took one look at Hermione and Ron, also emerging from under the piano and rather red-faced, and burst out laughing again.

"Did we miss anything important?" Hermione asked with dignity once Ginny and Harry were at the teary-eyed, sighing stage.

"Oh, nothing really important," Ginny said with a perfectly straight face. "Just that little thing about Fudge, right, Harry?"

"Yes, that little thing about elections," Harry agreed, nodding in his best impression of Percy. "General elections for Minister of Magic happening today. So no, nothing important."

"Oh yes, and an important Ministry official in the kitchen telling my brothers and mother who to vote for," Ginny added. "That's all, you didn't miss a thing."

"No, wait, one other thing," Harry said. "Wasn't she the one who turned you into a cat?"

"Oh, that's right," Ginny said, as if Harry had reminded her to get milk at the store. "Thanks, Harry, I almost forgot about that. Yes, Madam Fleming is the witch who turned me into a cat."

Ron got a look at Hermione's face and started laughing, setting Harry and Ginny off again, and finally even Hermione had to admit the whole thing was rather funny. She insisted on getting a fuller report, though.

Harry's recounting of how Madam Fleming had pranked Remus at Hogwarts had Ron rolling on the floor howling and Hermione sunk weakly into a chair, unable to stand. Harry and Ginny held out for a few moments, then met each other's eyes and succumbed a fourth time to fits of laughter, Harry more grateful than ever for the Silencing Charms on the walls.

"Why isn't Remus down in the kitchen?" Harry wondered aloud after everyone had recovered. "I mean, I know he doesn't like Madam Fleming all that much, but he'd want to know about the candidates for the election, right?"

"Ah, Harry," Ron said, "he's a werewolf, remember?"

"Yes, of course I do, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well..." Ron looked pleadingly at Hermione.

"Werewolves can't vote, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry sighed. _Should have known. _"Umbridge again?"

"No, this is older than her," said Ron. "Goes back to probably the Middle Ages some time, everything seems to."

"1351, to be exact," Hermione said. "Honestly, we covered this just last year in History of Magic, weren't you listening? The Proclamation Regarding the Disenfranchisement of All Part-Human and Sub-Human Beings Residing Within the Isles of Britannia."

"Do you ever forget _anything_?" Ron asked, looking at Hermione in bewilderment.

-----

When they returned to the kitchen, they discovered Remus had preceded them, along with Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, and Lee Jordan and Katie Bell. Madam Fleming seemed to be just wrapping up.

"... personally, I plan to vote for Amelia Bones," she said. "She's tough and fair, which is what we need in difficult times like these."

"Why didn't you stay at the Ministry, Athena?" Mr. Weasley asked. "You would have made an excellent Minister."

"I have another commitment, Arthur," Madam Fleming said. "One which I doubt you'd encourage me to turn down. But I'm not at liberty to discuss it at the moment, or in present company." She seemed less than pleased to see the four of them, Harry realized.

"Very well, only asking," Mr. Weasley said politely.

"If you don't need me for anything else, Headmaster?" Madam Fleming asked Dumbledore.

"Not at the moment, Athena. Thank you for your time, though."

Madam Fleming nodded to him, fastening her cloak on. "Ministry of Magic," she said, tossing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and stepping in. It roared green, and she was gone.

"Well," Bill said, standing up, "now that she's gone and it's just the family, and friends," he nodded to Lee and Katie, "I think it's time. What do you think, little brother?"

"I would agree," George said, also standing up.

"Time for what?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Well, mother dearest, you informed us earlier today that none of us were ever allowed to get married in secret again," George said.

"So we've decided to make it as public as possible," said Bill.

In tandem, he and George turned to Fleur and Alicia and knelt down in front of them.

"Fleur Delacour, queen of my heart..." Bill began.

"Alicia Spinnet, love of my life..." George started.

"Will you marry me?" they finished in perfect unison.

Harry had no idea what Fleur and Alicia had said, because he hadn't been able to hear them over the excited squealing of Ginny, Hermione, Angelina, and Katie. From the way the two couples were kissing, though, it seemed very likely the answers had been yes.

Congratulations were offered all around. Professor Dumbledore had the words Harry thought everyone would remember longest. "What you have done today is a victory for our side in this war. As long as we continue to have love and joy in our lives, the darkness can never fully overcome us. I congratulate you, and I thank you."

The rest of the day, except for the breaks the adults took to go out and vote, was spent in noisy, happy planning for a double wedding, which was finally scheduled for August 27th. After dinner, which was a noisy event due to Ginny and Hermione's insistence on tinging their glasses with their spoons to make Fred and Angelina kiss, Remus went out to get the election results.

The ensuing ten minutes seemed far too long to Harry. He washed the dishes, Ginny rinsed, Hermione dried, and Ron put away. Fred, Angelina, George, and Alicia discussed decorating plans for the apartment above Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, where they planned to live, with Lee and Katie as consultants. Bill and Fleur, aided by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, looked through the _Daily Prophet_ classifieds for wizard-friendly apartments in the London area.

The small pop as Remus Apparated into the kitchen was nonetheless attention-getting. Harry turned around from the sink to see his former professor grinning and holding up a copy of the _Evening Prophet_.

_**CONGRATULATIONS MINISTER BONES!**_

_**New Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones, calls for unity among wizards, alliances with non-humans**_

It was a good thing the neighbors didn't know the house was there, Harry thought, because otherwise there would definitely have been noise complaints.

_I would say this has been a classic example of an exciting day._

-----

(A/N: I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! The homework monsters ate me, I swear!

But anyway... here it is, and I'll try to stay on schedule from now on!

Remember, more reviews mean sooner updates...

Lanie: No, I will not hit you on the head with Billy. Do it yourself.

Lady Cinnibar: Well, that depends on what you consider "seriously into" it. And congratulations, you got a 90 percent on the Home At Last Challenge! What would you like your character named?

emikae: Agreed, Metamorphmagus Mints do sound like fun. They'll be back, never fear.

MAndrews: I'm so glad! B/c we've all read chapters that drag on forever... that was my worst fear.

Caprice-Ann HedicanKocur: Yay, you're back! I will update Extenuating Circumstances as soon as I possibly can, I promise!

Telos: Oh my gosh. ::major blush:: Whenever I felt bad over the past week, I just reread your super excellent review and I felt all better. Thank you so much! Concrit appreciated but not necessary – if you liked it all, I'm perfectly happy to hear that!

See you all on Thursday at the latest, I promise!)


	16. Half Note, Half Rest

Chapter 16: Half Note, Half Rest

"Hey, wait up!" Harry ran up the sidewalk leading to the Student Union, trying to catch up with Hermione and Ginny, who were power-walking. "Come on, we have twenty minutes! What's the rush?"

"I want to eat, even if you don't," Hermione said tartly. "I do have jazz band after choir, in case you've forgotten."

"Sorry," Harry apologized. He _had_ forgotten. Hermione, faced with a relative lack of pitch ability but a sure sense of rhythm, had done the sensible thing and learned how to play the drums. A solid year of studying and experimentation had made her quite something, and the director of the jazz band had been delighted to have her try out. Harry was looking forward to their concert.

"Where's Ron?" Ginny said. "I thought he said he'd meet us here."

"He's probably in one of the practice rooms," Harry said. "Maybe he lost track of time."

"He does do that when he plays," said Hermione, smiling over the vagaries of her boyfriend. "Shall I go get him, or do you want to?"

"No need, here he comes," said Ginny.

"Sorry, everyone," Ron said, skidding to a halt beside them. "I was working on a tough passage and I..."

"Lost track of time," everyone chorused.

Twenty minutes later, as he checked through his music folder in the choir room, Harry noticed a small plaque hanging on the wall:

**Which way did they go?**

**How many of them were there?**

**How fast were they going?**

**I MUST find them!**

**I am their LEADER!**

"That expresses my usual feeling about directing," Big Guy said, noticing where Harry was looking. "One of my previous choirs got it for me after we got separated on a field trip – they turned up at the right place and the right time and I didn't."

Harry couldn't help laughing.

-----

The next morning, owls delivered letters to four members of the household – Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley.

"What's this, I wonder?" Mr. Weasley said, tearing open the parchment envelope. He read it over once, then again, and sat down rather quickly.

"What's wrong?" said Mrs. Weasley, turning around from the stove. Mr. Weasley handed her the letter. She perused it, and her mouth fell open. "Oh, Arthur!"

"What?" Ron said.

"Your father's been asked to serve as Assistant Minister of Magic!" Mrs. Weasley said, beaming at her husband. "Arthur, love, congratulations!"

"Now, wait just a moment," Mr. Weasley said. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"You're not seriously considering turning this down?" Mrs. Weasley looked shocked.

"Now, Molly, I'm quite happy where I am – "

Harry caught Ron's eye and jerked his head toward the stairs. Ron nodded avidly, and they picked up their letters and made a hasty exit, Hermione right behind them.

They almost collided with Fred and George as the twins Apparated in the hall.

"Don't go downstairs just yet," Ron said. "Mum's telling Dad what he thinks."

The twins were gratified by their father's appointment – "Finally, someone figures out what Dad can do!" said Fred – but they were more interested in the fat letters being held by Harry, Ron, and Hermione. These turned out to be forms from Hogwarts, detailing the new classes they were eligible for and the requirements for their chosen careers.

They all checked off N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, Potions (though Ron made a face as he did), Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Those are the four McGonagall said we really needed," Harry said. "But we need five N.E.W.T.s to make it. Should we keep Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology?"

"Why not both?" Hermione said. "Have a bit of a safety net. If you fail one, you can still pass with the other."

"Makes sense to me," Ron said, checking them both off. "So that leaves three slots open for me, since I'm _not_ taking History of Magic or Divination again, and I'm not all that keen on Astronomy. What's this Practical Magic thing?"

"That's new," said Fred, looking over Ron's shoulder. "They've just added it this year. I hear it's going to be a great course."

"You ought to take it, Harry," George added. "It's about using magic in everyday life. The kind of things Muggleborn students, or Muggle-raised, might not know."

"That does sound interesting," said Hermione, eagerly checking it off on her list.

"Oh, and a piece of advice," George said. "Unless there's something you really want, try to keep yourself down to eight classes instead of nine. You're going to need the extra time."

"Homework," Ron groaned. "I can see it now. Snape'll be assigning three-foot essays every class."

"Well, in that case, I've only got one slot left," Harry said. He turned over the informational pamphlet. "Interdisciplinary Course," he read aloud. "New this year. Defense Against the Dark Arts/Muggle Studies. Physical forms of self-defense, hand-to-hand and Muggle weaponry combat techniques."

"You're kidding," Ron said, flipping his own pamphlet over. "There's a class on how to _fight_? Without a wand or anything?"

"That sounds interesting," Harry said. "And practical. Who's with me?"

"Aye," Ron said, checking it off. "And that's my eight sorted."

Hermione sighed. "I guess I'll just have to give up Ancient Runes."

Hedwig was dispatched with the completed lists, Mr. Weasley somewhat reluctantly accepted his new post, and the next week and a half, to Harry's surprise, was relatively peaceful. He had gotten used to hectic activity around and involving him, so long hours in which nothing _had _to be done were a bit startling at first, but pleasant.

He finished the Erica Gorelli series and agreed with Ginny that 21 December, the release date of the fifth book, couldn't come soon enough. He practiced his wand movements and spells and studied lists of potion ingredients – he was determined that this year, Snape would not rattle him in Potions.

And he kept dreaming of Carrington College, of a life far removed from his own, and yet oddly similar...

-----

"Two," Ron moaned. "Two out of ten. I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail my seminar."

"Don't be stupid, nobody fails a seminar," Erica said briskly. She, Harry, Ron, and Fran were sitting around a table in the library. Ron's and Harry's first papers for their freshman seminars had been handed back with abysmal grades – Harry had gotten a three out of ten and Ron the oft-bemoaned two. Fran, an English major, and Erica, theater major and English minor, were the obvious people to ask for help.

"That's what the seminars are for, to help you learn how to write papers," Fran said. "And from the looks of these," she waved the boys' papers, "no one ever has. Have they?"

Harry shook his head. "I guess they just expected us to pick it up along the way."

Erica sighed. "I hate schools that do that. It's so unfair. Here, let's pair off. Harry, I'll take you, if that's OK?"

Harry nodded, and Erica pulled her chair closer to his, while Fran moved over to sit beside Ron.

"All right, let's start with the basics," Erica said. "Do you know what a thesis is?"

Nearly two hours later, Harry's head hurt, but he finally understood what Erica was getting at. More, he understood why his paper had been downgraded – he hadn't had a real argument, instead rambling from one thought to another without ever making a clear statement about anything. He also had a tendency to shift verb tense in the middle of a paragraph, and he'd missed a few spelling mistakes when he'd proofread.

"This is what I'm good at," Erica said. "Talk to me any time. If I'm too busy, I'll tell you that, but if I'm not, I'll give you a hand. Feel a little better about it now?"

"Yes," Harry said, and he meant it. _If I can find the mistakes, I can fix them. It's not knowing they're there that kills._

"Good. C'mon, if we hurry there's just time for dinner before choir."

-----

When George could be spared from the store, where he, Fred, and Lee were preparing for the Grand Opening scheduled for 12 August, he would come over to give Harry guitar lessons. Harry's fingers got sore quickly, and he started sitting with one foot propped up in his guitar-playing pose out of habit. However, after a frustrating few days trying to remember all the basics – what strings were which, where to press when, which way to strum the strings – everything seemed to fall into place, and lessons became fun overnight.

"You're really picking this up fast," George said, opening one of Harry's birthday presents, _100 Fun Songs for Guitar_, to the page Harry had marked. "How much do you practice?"

"About an hour a day, maybe a little more," Harry said. "Any trouble spots in this song, you think?"

George pointed to one place. "That chord change there might be tricky, be careful on it. Are you sure that's all you practice? It took me a month to get this good, and you've only been playing about a week."

"Well, I might do a little more," Harry said, and began the song to avoid having any more of this conversation. He knew why he was getting good so quickly, but if he told anyone, they would probably think he was crazy...

-----

"You're getting really good at this," said Robertson approvingly as Harry finished the song. "You had lessons back in the UK, didn't you?"

"A friend taught me the basics, then I worked on my own for a while," Harry said.

"Well, you've got some talent, let me tell you," Robertson said. "Just don't stop practicing. That's the key to everything, you know. Practice, practice, practice."

Robert Robertson ("I had cruel parents") was known almost universally by his last name. A junior and Erica's fellow theater major, he was fairly short and burly, with curly brown hair and a beard and mustache. He lived on 1st Gardner, up the hall a short way from Fran, and he gave guitar lessons to earn a little extra money.

His friend DJ Slovin, who lived across the hall, sat beside Harry in choir and was the other drummer for the jazz band besides Hermione. He was also an excellent disc jockey, hiring out for parties and often handling the music at Carrington dances. Harry had gotten a chance to ask him, and it turned out that the reason his door tag said "DJ" was that he had no other name. "I had cruel parents too, or maybe just lazy," DJ said. "They couldn't think up a real name for me, so they just gave me initials. Everyone always thinks I'm lying when I fill out forms – I used to hate standardized tests in school."

-----

Most of Harry's reading was done comfortably perched on his favorite window seat. He looked up from _Hyperactive Actor_ one afternoon and realized there was a tantalizing, and familiar, smell coming from the basement.

_Is someone making cookies? I thought Mrs. Weasley was away for the day..._

Ron came thumping down the stairs. "Who's in the kitchen?"

"Don't know."

When they got downstairs, a flushed but triumphant Ginny was just taking the last sheet of chocolate chip cookies from the oven while Hermione slid another sheet's contents onto cooling racks.

"Oooh, gimme," Ron said, reaching for one.

Hermione slapped his hand. "They're still too hot to eat, Ronald!"

"No such thing," said Ron, looking sulky.

"Oh yes there is," Hermione said firmly. "And you whine like anything when you burn your tongue. So leave them alone for at least five minutes. Ten would be better."

"This is torture," Ron grumbled. "How am I supposed to sit here looking at cookies and not eat them for ten minutes?"

"Go somewhere else?" Hermione suggested tartly, waving the hot cookie sheet through the air to cool it off.

-----

Another question Harry had finally asked was, what were the door tags on 1st Gardner supposed to look like?

"They're crocodiles, of course," Fran said, dusting the counter with flour. "For the Carrington mascot. Chomper, the Carrington Croc."

"What kind of name is Chomper, anyway?" Lizzie said in annoyance, kneading the soft pretzel dough on her board perhaps a little harder than she had to. "They had a Name-the-Croc contest last year – if Chomper was the best idea they came up with, I don't want to hear about the worst!"

"Oh, lighten up," Lanie said, lightly poking her roommate on the nose and leaving behind a smear of flour.

"You lighten up." Lizzie dipped her hands in flour and streaked both Lanie's cheeks with it.

Ten minutes later, there was a light coating of flour over almost everything in the kitchen, and everyone's faces and clothes were marked with it. Rose darted around with a camera, taking pictures and giggling so loud it sounded as if a whole litter of puppies were being sat on, until Erica threw a handful of flour at her lens.

The pretzels, once they actually got baked, were delicious.

-----

Harry and George had to schedule their time in the music room carefully, since there were several other people using it. Ron was still working on teaching himself piano, and Hermione, to everyone's surprise, had asked Fred if he would teach her to play the drums.

"I never would have seen you as a drummer," Ron said to her after one of her lessons.

"Why not?"

"Well, it's kind of... well... noisy."

"So?"

"I guess..." Ron looked totally nonplussed. "I guess I just never thought of you that way."

"Just because I don't usually like noise, Ronald Weasley, doesn't mean I'm a prude, if that's what you're suggesting!" Hermione snapped.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Well, how _did_ you mean it, then?"

Ron was reduced to spluttering as Hermione stalked away.

There was one other set of people using the music room. Ginny had wheedled Bill, who played the saxophone, into giving her preliminary lessons on his old clarinet.

"I've written to Professor Sprout," she said one day, cleaning the instrument, "and she's agreed to take me on as a student."

"You're already her student, aren't you?" Harry asked.

"A _clarinet_ student," Ginny said, sticking out her tongue at him. "She teaches woodwinds in her spare time. Piano, too, Ron, if you're interested. She said she had a few spots left for lessons."

Ron nodded ruefully. "I'm not getting far on my own," he confessed. "I keep messing up my right and left hands."

"I suggest you owl her soon, then," Ginny said, fitting the clarinet back into its worn case.

-----

Harry reclined on the cushioned bench outside the band room with his book, waiting. He had slipped a note into Ginny's music locker suggesting lunch, and he was hoping she'd gotten it. The sounds of the women's choir rehearsing drifted out of the choir room as Dottie, the voice teacher and Big Guy's wife, slipped out the door, waving at Harry as she passed. He nodded to her, then returned to his history text.

_Chapter 3. Jamestown – The First Success._

About seven pages later, Harry's ears registered the end of the mild cacophony known as band practice. He sat up as the door opened and people started streaming out. Rose giggled and waved as she passed him. A few other people he vaguely recognized nodded to him.

Ginny was one of the last people out, carrying her clarinet, her music folder, and her bookbag all in her arms. "Allow me," Harry said, catching the top few sheets of music as they threatened to fall from the folder.

"Thanks." Ginny opened her locker to put away her clarinet. "Lunch, you said?"

"Whenever you're ready. I don't have any more classes today."

"I don't have anything until 2:30, so we have about an hour."

"Excellent."

Arm in arm, they strolled down the hall to see what Garritty's Food Court was offering today.

-----

"What are you getting Ginny for her birthday?" Ron asked Harry one morning.

"When is it?"

"The eleventh."

"Of August?"

Ron nodded.

"That's only two days away!"

Ron shrugged. "Sorry, Harry, I thought you knew."

Harry shook his head. "How would I know?" He got up and started pacing around. "What are your parents getting her?"

"A broomstick, I think. I'm getting her a Skiving Snackbox or two for her O.W.L. year, Fred and George gave me a family discount."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that," Harry said. He looked down at the floor of their bedroom and was struck by a flash of inspiration.

_That's perfect! _

_But I have to ask Remus..._

Remus was quite happy to go shopping for Harry, with the result that Ginny, at her birthday party two days later, ripped the paper off Harry's gift to discover a handsome leather case, with a shining black-and-silver clarinet inside it.

"Happy birthday, Ginny," Harry said, and kissed her on the cheek.

She squealed and swung at him. He ducked.

"It's to grow on," he said, grinning. "And for payback."

Her second swing didn't miss.

-----

"Ow," Harry said, rubbing his face.

"No throwing at the head, people! Harry's safe at second!" Fran yelled.

Erica, Lizzie, Anna, DJ, Ron, and Hermione booed. Lanie, Edith, Rose, Robertson, and Ginny cheered. Harry took a bow.

Ron retrieved the ball and tossed it to Anna, who was pitcher. She wound up and delivered, Robertson lofted a high one over the heads of the outfield, and Harry made it home to score before the other team got the ball back in play. Ginny was up next – a dribbler to the infield and thrown out at first. Rose's fly ball was caught in the air, and Lanie was tagged between first and second to end the inning. Harry ran out to second base for his team's turn in the field.

_Kickball on Rivers Walk. What a way to spend a sunny afternoon._

"Play ball!" Fran shouted. Edith rolled the ball down the brick walkway, Erica booted it high, and the game was on.

-----

Harry woke up on the morning of 12 August feeling decidedly cheerful. His team had won the game 5-3, his latest paper for seminar had earned eight out of ten, and Big Guy had asked the choir if they would all be willing to stay at Carrington until he retired.

_If my life went like my dreams, I'd be the happiest person in the world. _

_Not that it's been easy to get to sleep lately, with Ron snoring all the time. Maybe I can get Remus or Mrs. Weasley to cast a Silencing Charm on his bedcurtains. _

_So, what's happening today... oh, that's right! The Grand Opening!_

He climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

"Boys, are you up?" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs. "We're leaving in an hour. And make sure to dress nicely, especially you, Harry!"

"All right!" Harry called back, wondering why he needed to dress nicely.

_They're probably going to drag me up front and introduce me as their financial backer._

But even the prospect of being stared at and having his picture taken couldn't puncture Harry's mood. He was grinning as he made his way down to the kitchen.

"Morning, Mrs. Weasley," he said. "Morning, Tonks."

"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks, who was leaning back in her chair by the fireplace. "I'm your personal bodyguard for the day. Appointed by the Minister herself."

Under normal circumstances, having a bodyguard would have annoyed Harry greatly, but not today. _I guess I'm just unannoyable today._ "That's great," he said cheerfully. "'Mione, are those scones?"

"Mm-hmm," Hermione said with her mouth full. She swallowed. "Fresh baked."

"Excellent," said Harry, helping himself.

When breakfast was over, everyone Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, waving at old Tom as they crossed to the back door. Mrs. Weasley tapped the proper brick three times with her wand, and the archway opened into Diagon Alley.

Harry was surprised to see how crowded it was, and not just with the kinds of customers he would have expected the twins to get – there were more full-grown witches and wizards in the crowd than there were teenagers and students. Tonks waved at someone in the crowd, and a path started opening up. "This way," she said.

People were staring at him and whispering, Harry could hear snatches and bits of what they were saying...

"... guest of honor..."

"... Minister Bones..."

"... something about the truth..."

"... Sirius Black..."

Harry jumped at that last one and tried to turn to see who had said it, but Tonks had a hold of his wrist and was pulling him along. "Come on, not far now," she said in an odd voice.

_Is she... crying? No, Tonks doesn't cry. What is going on here?_

They emerged in an open space in front of a handsome store front with the familiar three W's painted over the door. A small crowd stood on a platform in the middle of the space – Fred and George, Lee, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, Professor Dumbledore, Remus, and Minister of Magic Bones and Assistant Minister Weasley, along with a few grim-looking men Harry assumed were security of some kind.

"We go up here," Tonks said, giving Harry a little shove towards the stairs. "Go on, they're only waiting for you."

More confused than ever, Harry mounted the steps to the platform.

"Ah, Harry, good," said Dumbledore, smiling at him. "Amelia, I believe we are all gathered now..."

Madam Bones nodded, pointed her wand at her throat and murmured "_Sonorus!_"

As she began to speak, her voice echoing over the murmurs of the crowd, Harry felt Remus' hand on his shoulder.

"Witches and gentlewizards, thank you all for coming today. It is true that the Minister of Magic would not normally speak at the opening of a new business, no matter how greatly anticipated by our youth, the voters of the future..." Madam Bones paused for some laughter from the crowd. "But we do not live in normal times. We are at war."

The word echoed around the shopfronts. No one moved.

"We are at war," Madam Bones repeated. "We are fighting against the forces of darkness, against those who would take away our safety and our freedom. We are fighting against their cruelty and against their lies. And in any war against lies, the truth is the greatest weapon. So I have decided today to make a public announcement of the truth behind one of my predecessor's greatest mistakes."

Harry sucked in his breath, realizing what she was about to say.

"I am referring to the wrongful imprisonment of an innocent man, a man framed for a crime he did not commit, a man killed before his name could be cleared. I am referring to Sirius Black."

A ripple of gasps went through the audience.

"Yes, you heard me correctly," Madam Bones said with a trace of amusement, which was gone when she spoke again. "Sirius Black was innocent. He should never have been sent to Azkaban, as he was. Certainly he should never have been sent there without a trial. But, again, he was. No possible apology can repair the damage done to his life and his name by this horrific injustice."

Harry located Ron and Hermione in the crowd, at the very front with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Ron was intent on every word Madam Bones was saying, while Hermione looked as if she might cry.

"The true criminal behind the acts blamed on Sirius Black was Peter Pettigrew." Madam Bones seemed to spit the name as if it tasted foul. "Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater. Peter Pettigrew betrayed James and Lily Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And Peter Pettigrew murdered twelve Muggles in an attempt – a successful attempt – to escape justice. Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban was not to seek Harry Potter, but to seek Peter Pettigrew – to bring justice where justice had failed."

The crowd was utterly silent.

"Sirius Black was a good man," Madam Bones declared. "A brave man, a loyal man, and an innocent man. He never committed murder, he never betrayed a friend, and he died fighting Death Eaters, to save innocent lives. He deserves the highest respect and honor of the wizarding world. Which is why he has been posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, the honor which was wrongfully given to Peter Pettigrew."

"She's going to want you to accept it for him," Remus whispered to Harry. "All you have to say is 'I do.'"

Harry nodded, his throat tight.

"Sirius Black had no children, but he had a godson. I ask that his godson come forward now, to accept this award in his place."

Harry swallowed hard and walked toward Madam Bones. The crowd gasped again. Flashbulbs began going off.

"I present this award to you, Harry Potter, on behalf of Sirius Black," said Madam Bones in the tones of a ritual speech, extending a black velvet box. "Do you accept it?"

"I do," Harry said, accepting the box. Applause from the crowd startled him for a moment, but he regained his composure quickly and returned to Remus' side. _I hope that was right._

"Sirius Black left a legacy behind him," Madam Bones said. "Not only in spirit, in the spirit of all that is good and right, but in worldly goods. And part of that legacy he left to these fine young men here, Fred and George Weasley, who used that legacy to further their entrepreneurial dreams. So, without further ado, I declare Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes open for business."

The crowd cheered and surged forward around the platform. Fred, George, and Lee Disapparated as one, probably to get inside so they could serve their customers, Harry thought. Madam Bones removed the spell from her throat and turned to him.

"You have my condolences on your loss, Mr. Potter," she said.

"Thank you, Minister," Harry said, feeling awkward. "And thank you for everything you said."

"No need of thanks for the truth, Mr. Potter. Best wishes for your new school year."

She turned and walked away, followed closely by two dark-robed men.

Harry leaned against the railing of the platform, blinking hard.

_At least now everyone knows the truth. No one can ever say he was a criminal again._

It didn't help. The black hole that was Sirius' absence in his life, which he had patched over with his reading and his music and his friends, now seemed to yawn as large and as forbidding as it ever had. It would never close, never, he would grieve all his life...

"Harry," Remus said softly from behind him. "Food, drink, and embarrassing stories, remember? That's how Sirius wanted to be remembered. Not with more tears."

Harry nodded. But he had to ask something. "Does grief ever go away?"

"Never entirely," Remus said. "We would have to forget the person for that to happen. But it does lessen. Other things become important. And that's as it should be. Sirius will never be forgotten, not by us and not by the rest of the world. And now he will be remembered as he should, as a strong man and a hero."

Harry smiled, feeling his good mood tentatively returning.

_Sirius wanted me to be happy. That was always what he wanted most. I have to remember that._

_Because I honor him best by doing what he wanted._

"So why don't we give this joke shop a try?" he said.

"After you, _Mr. Potter_," Remus said, waving to the stairs.

"Oh, no, you don't," Harry said. "If you call me that again, I'm going back to _Professor Lupin_."

"Oh, please don't do that," Remus sighed. "That makes me feel so _old_!"

"So that's why you made us stop!" Harry laughed. "Vain, aren't you?"

"Only a little," Remus said, pretending to examine his fingernails. "But I'm getting better – I've been taking lessons by owl from Gilderoy Lockhart."

Tonks cracked up.

Harry smacked her with Sirius' Order of Merlin, First Class, and took off running for the joke shop. "Last one there's a Blast-Ended Skrewt!" he shouted over his shoulder.

-----

(A/N: Hope this chappie's not too disjointed to follow. It alternates between dreams and reality, in case you need help.

Caprice-Ann HedicanKocur: Happy now?

MAndrews: More dreams in this chappie, just for you!

Lady Cinnibar: You have to think of it from her perspective. She's never met Harry, so all she knows about him is what she reads in the papers, he's in pajamas and barefoot and probably has bedhead, and he asks what sounds like a really nosy question. And yes, he is actually going to get into playing guitar, as this chapter showed, I hope. Name noted and logged – do you have a House preference?

emikae: Yes, I could use them on occasion myself...

MackenzieW: In general, I would say you're right. There are probably Fudge fans out there, but I've yet to meet one.

Just Playin, pad's gurl584: Here you are!

Everyone: Thank you so much! I heart you all!)


	17. Seventh

Chapter 17: Seventh

Harry rooted through his trunk. _Come on, come on, where are you?_ he thought in annoyance. _Come on, just let me find you – OW!_

He yanked his hand out. His ring finger was bleeding from a gash along the fingertip.

_What was that?_

He hit himself in the forehead with the hand that wasn't in his mouth. _Glass, Harry. Broken glass. Broken mirror glass. Way to remember you never unpacked this year._

_Wonder if I could get away with a spell, just this once? There's so much magic around, they could never tell it was me... they couldn't tell the difference between me and Dobby second year, they won't be able to tell now..._

_No, I can't afford any more trouble. I can't break any more rules. Not now._

The glass had cut more than his skin – it had hit home on one of the worst memories of his life, the moment when his hopes had been raised for an instant, only to be dashed again...

He shoved the memory away. _I need an adult._

He went down the stairs quietly, out of habit, and saw Mrs. Weasley just coming up from the basement. "Mrs. Weasley? Could you give me a hand upstairs?"

"Certainly, Harry, what is it you need?"

"Well, I cut myself a little on some glass in my trunk..."

"_What_ is broken glass doing in your trunk, Harry Potter?" Mrs. Weasley demanded.

"Broke a mirror," Harry said, biting his lip hard for an instant. "And I was hoping you could repair it for me. Since I can't do magic outside school."

"Let me see that hand of yours, first." A poke from her wand and the cut was gone. "Now, let me see... a mirror..." She led the way upstairs, mumbling to herself.

"It's in there," Harry said, pointing at his trunk. "I think it's all there, anyway."

"Well, let's find out," Mrs. Weasley said, picking up the dustbin in the corner and removing the bag lining it. "_Accio Glass!"_

Shining silver shards flew out of Harry's trunk and into the bin, smashing somewhat more than they had in the process. Harry winced, but Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to notice. "Now, then, _Accio Frame!_"

An old, square frame soared towards them. Harry caught it reflexively and quickly lowered it to his side.

"No, no, I need it where I can see it, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. Harry brought it up to chest level, facing her, so that the message scrawled on the back was hidden by his hand. "Let me see if I have this right... _Speculum Reparo!_"

The shards of glass flew from the bin and back into the frame. Harry turned it to see his uncertain face reflected back at him from within the dirty depths of the glass. Sirius' mirror was fixed. But Harry knew he couldn't contact his godfather with this mirror.

_Because he didn't have the other one with him._

"Harry? What's wrong?" Mrs. Weasley asked softly.

Harry opened his mouth to answer and found that he couldn't. His throat had closed entirely, it seemed – even breathing was an effort. He looked up from the mirror and met Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

He had seen his own pain over Sirius mirrored in Remus' eyes, but what he saw in Mrs. Weasley's was something else. Pain, yes, pain was there, and sorrow, but it was old pain, old sorrow. As Remus had told him the day before, grief never entirely goes away, but it does become less.

_How did you do it?_ Harry asked without words. _How did you get beyond the pain?_

Mrs. Weasley's answer was to pull him into a firm hug and hold him there. "It's all right," she whispered. "It's all right to cry."

Harry would have denied this, but his eyes obeyed before his mind had a chance to override them, and in an instant he was sobbing. Vaguely he heard the door close and felt them moving together, vaguely he felt them sit down on the bed. His mind seemed full of nothing but grief, the way he'd been for a few days at Privet Drive, after the numbness and shock had worn off and before Ginny's package had arrived.

_I thought I was beyond this. I thought I was healing. I thought I was going to be all right._

"You are going to be all right, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said into his hair, still holding him tightly – he must have spoken aloud, he realized, for her to be answering. "Grief isn't some kind of obstacle course, that once you finish with something, you don't have to do it again. No, I'm afraid you will be a long time healing from this, but we are here to help you. You don't have to do everything on your own."

Harry swallowed and sniffed. "Thanks," he said in a watery kind of way.

"What brought this on?" Mrs. Weasley asked gently, Summoning the tissues with her wand. "The mirror?"

Harry nodded. "It was Sirius'," he said, taking a shuddery breath and blowing his nose. "He told me to use it in an emergency... and I forgot..."

He was horrified to hear his voice go off into a little-boy wail at the end of the sentence.

"_Oh._" Mrs. Weasley pulled him into her arms again. "Oh, Harry, my little love. My poor little love."

Her voice was catching in odd places, Harry noticed from a distance. _She's probably crying too._

_She called me "little love". No one ever called me that before._ He found he rather liked it.

_But if I have to cry to get it, I don't think I want it any more..._

It was a worse crying bout than he'd had since he'd arrived at Grimmauld Place, possibly excepting his cry with Remus in the music room on his first morning. It left him feeling shaky but relieved, as if he'd released some kind of tension inside him.

_I guess I needed it._

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said once he could talk again.

"You come to me any time you need to do that," she said, gently stroking his head. "You're part of the family now, remember. Our seventh son."

She left before he could respond to that.

_Well, at least now I have the pair._ Harry turned his attention back to his trunk, digging through it until he had unearthed the twin to the mirror on his bed. He had found it in Sirius' bedroom, on the dresser, along with a handful of loose change. Obviously Sirius had been changing robes when he had been called away to the Ministry...

_But that's not what I was looking for._

Harry pulled out a large square of dirty parchment and climbed onto his bed. From a pocket, he withdrew a somewhat tattered letter – Sirius' letter to him, which he took everywhere. It was stupid, he knew, but it made him feel closer to his godfather.

He opened it and immediately located the sentences he wanted.

"_Oh, and activate the Marauders' Map sometime with the phrase 'I solemnly swear that I am up to nothing good.' I think you'll like it."_

About to place his wand on the parchment, he hesitated.

_I probably shouldn't be doing this. It is magic, after all. And I'm not in school._

_But what harm can the Map do? It might not even work off Hogwarts grounds. Besides, I really want to see what this does._

"I solemnly swear that I am up to nothing good," Harry said, wand tip on the parchment.

Immediately lines began to form on the map, making up the familiar outlines of the castle, but as Harry watched, they faded and were replaced with blank parchment. The curly letters at the top blossomed as usual...

_Erm, no. Not as usual._

Harry stared.

_**Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present**_

_**The Marauders' Map**_

_**Personal Edition**_

_**Welcome, Mr. Padfoot.**_

The top three lines faded, and the last line moved to the top of the map. New writing appeared.

_**Would you like to:**_

_**A) Read over old content**_

_**B) Input new content**_

_**C) Explain what exactly is going on, who all these new users are, and why Snivellus thinks he's a professor?!**_

Still more writing appeared below the three options, but where the options and the title had the look of something professionally created, this was obviously handwritten. It reminded Harry of nothing so much as the diary of Tom Riddle, and the only thing that kept him from dropping the Map in horror was the fact that he knew the handwriting...

**-For that matter, who are you? Unless my voice has changed a lot, you're not me.- **

... it was Sirius'...

**-You can answer aloud, we'll hear you.-**

"We?" Harry said in disbelief. "Who's we?"

**-Er, the Marauders? You know, the blokes who made the Map?- **

"I know who you are. You mean, you're all _in_ there?"

**-Well, sort of. It's kind of difficult to explain...-**

**(Why not let me have a try?)** A new writing broke in. It was neater, loopier, and also familiar to Harry.

"Hey, Moony," he said, grinning.

**(How did you know?)** Moony demanded.

"I've seen your writing before. Are Prongs and Wormtail there too?"

**:Yes, we're here.:** This writing was less messy than Sirius', but not as neat as Remus'. It had rather tall capitals to it, and Harry shivered a little as he realized who it must belong to...

"Hello, Prongs," he said quietly.

**:You're a good guesser... ah, what did you say your name was?:**

"I didn't. It's Harry. Harry Potter."

**:Potter, really? Any relation to me?:**

"Er, long story. Can it wait?"

**:No.:**

**(Of course it can, Prongs, don't be such a self-centered ass. Harry, we're memories of the Marauders at age seventeen, which is when they last accessed the Map. We have an imperfect sense of time, but I think it's probably been quite a while since we were seventeen. Am I right?)**

Harry nodded, then remembered they couldn't see him. "Yes. You're right. It's been _quite_ a while." He laughed a little, without any real mirth. "Hey, I haven't heard from Wormtail. Where are you, Petie?"

**;Here I am,;** a small scribble appeared on the parchment below the other, slowly fading lines. **;Hello, Harry.;**

"Hello," Harry said grimly. "So tell me, Wormtail, are you a Death Eater yet?"

The Map went briefly haywire. Swathes of ink crossed it in all directions. Then it settled to show four words, all the same, one in the handwriting of each Marauder:

**WHAT?!**

"That's right, Wormtail turned out to be a spy," Harry growled. "A sneaking traitor. What do you have to say for yourself?"

An incoherent scrawl crossed the bottom of the Map.

**(Is this true?)** Moony demanded.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Totally true."

**-Put your hand on the Map and swear,-** Padfoot said. **-Since the Map never lies, we'll be able to tell if you are. Not that we doubt you, but, well...-**

"Never mind. In your place, I think I'd doubt me too." Harry placed his hand on the middle of the Map. "I solemnly swear that Peter Pettigrew is and was a Death Eater, that he betrayed my parents and me, that he murdered an innocent boy and helped Lord Voldemort rise again. Good enough?"

He removed his hand to see that the Map had gone entirely blank.

**:We have _really_ missed a lot,:** Prongs commented after a moment.

-**Rise _again_?-** Padfoot wanted to know.

**(Wormtail – _out_,)** Moony said. Harry could almost feel the fury rising off the word. **(You lying, stinking piece of filth. You don't deserve a memory here.)**

**-You're out, Wormtail,-** Padfoot agreed. **-Harry, put your wand on the Map and say – -**

**;NO!;** Ink rose up from the depths of the Map; its surface turned entirely black for an instant, then began to swirl black and cream as, Harry assumed, the Marauders fought among themselves for control.

Finally a space cleared long enough for him to read three words in Prongs' writing. **:Exsculpo Peter Pettigrew!:**

"_Exsculpo Peter Pettigrew!_" Harry repeated, touching his wand to the Map again. All the ink disappeared, leaving the Map as blank as if he'd said "Mischief managed". Then words began to make themselves known.

**-Well, that was exciting. So, are you related to Prongs?-**

"Yep." Harry found himself grinning. Maybe he couldn't talk to the real Sirius, but this was awfully close... "I'm his son."

**:SON?!:**

"That's right. Harry James Potter, age sixteen, Gryffindor prefect and Seeker on the House team. Also, I am reliably informed that I look exactly like my father, except that I have my mother's eyes. Her bright green eyes."

**-Oh-HO, Prongs, you sly devil you! I always knew you and Lily were meant for each other!-**

**(Sixteen? Good heavens, that means we've been out of commission for at least seventeen years...)**

**:What do you mean, reliably informed? Wait a second... you said Wormtail betrayed you and your parents. And now you're saying I'm your father, and Lily is your mother... what kind of betrayal are we talking about here?:**

Harry sighed. "You're not going to like this. Any of you."

The story of the past nineteen years took quite a while to tell. When Harry finished, the parchment was blank for a time, the equivalent, he assumed, of a stunned silence.

**(I'm the only one left, then?)** Moony asked almost wistfully. **(The only true Marauder left?)**

**-Well, we do have our two newbies. Can't forget about them. Harry, what are those twins called again, the ones who gave you the Map?-**

"The Weasley twins. Fred and George. They've pulled stuff I think you would even be proud of. Like setting off an entire crate of enchanted fireworks in Hogwarts. Enchanted to multiply if you try to Vanish them."

**:Oh, well done!: **Prongs applauded. **:We knew they were twins by their magic – and quite excellent magic too – but we never knew their names.:**

**-Called them Duplus and Geminus to keep them straight,-** Padfoot said. **-Latin words for twins.-**

**(We really should consider them the fifth and sixth Marauders,)** Moony mused.

-**Say, Wormtail's Personal Edition account is free now,- **recalled Padfoot.** -Maybe they'd like to use it – that is, of course, if you're willing to share the map, Harry.-**

"What does the Personal Edition do, anyway?"

**:You mentioned that magic diary, the one Riddle made? This is a bit like that, but without the possessing-people-thing. You write on the Map, or speak to it, and it records your thoughts and feelings, your personality. You can relive your memories through the Map, if you put them in.:**

"Could I relive _your_ memories?" Harry was almost afraid to ask.

**(Possibly. But we'd never tried that, and I wouldn't recommend it without advice from someone more experienced. Harry, I have a request, if you don't mind.)**

"Sure, what is it?"

**(If I'm around, could I meet me?)**

It took Harry a moment to sort through this. "Oh. Um, sure, yeah, I guess. I'll be right back. Let me go see if he's, if you're, if he's here." _This could get confusing fast!_

He ran down the stairs and collided with Remus at the bottom, knocking them both over.

"I was looking for you, but I didn't expect to find you quite so fast," Remus said, chuckling, as he picked himself up.

"What for?"

"I wondered if you might like to talk."

Harry sighed. "You talked to Mrs. Weasley, didn't you?"

"No. Why, should I?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, no need. There's something I want to show you. Are you busy?"

"Not at all."

"It's up in my room." Harry went back up the stairs with Remus behind him. "Did the Marauders' Map only do one thing?" he asked, feeling mischievous.

"One thing?" Remus sounded nonplussed. "It does several things – shows the castle and grounds, the secret passages, where everyone is – who everyone is, regardless of disguises..."

"No, I mean something completely different. Something, well, _personal._"

"Harry, what are you implying?"

Harry grinned. "How would you like to meet yourself?"

Remus looked at him open-mouthed for a second, then recovered. "Sirius left you his Personal Edition password, didn't he? That's the only thing you could possibly be talking about... I'd almost forgotten about it, to be honest, it was so long ago... does it still work?"

"Perfectly. See for yourself."

Remus picked up the Map. "Hello," he said quietly.

**(Hello, Remus, how are you? Or rather, how am I? Damn, this is going to be hard to get used to...)**

"Why don't we stick with Remus for me, and Moony for you," Remus suggested. "Keep things straight."

**-Works for me. Hey, Remus. Sorry to hear I bit the big one. Hope you're not taking it too hard.-**

Remus chuckled again, with a slight edge to it. "Sirius Black, only you would joke about your own death."

**:Excuse me, _only_ him? I've been dead longer, so I should be even funnier.:**

"Hello to you too, Prongs."

**:That reminds me – my _son_ needs a Marauder name.:** The proprietary pride was almost audible, despite the words being written instead of spoken.** :Remus, do you still remember the scrying spell?:**

"Of course I do."

"Scrying spell?" Harry asked. "What's that?"

**(Scrying is a form of magical searching, Harry. This spell will show you your Animagus form.)**

"Scrying is magically looking for something, Harry. And this spell lets you scry for your Animagus form."

**:Would you two please not do that?:**

**-It's a bit disturbing.-**

"Sorry."

**(Sorry.)**

"In any case, Harry, a scrying spell is usually cast on a mirror or a bowl of water – some reflective surface – which the caster looks into to see whatever he or she is looking for. James and Sirius taught me the spell for fun after they'd done their transformations, so I could see what my Animagus form would be."

"Let me guess. A wolf."

"Actually, no, oddly enough. A lion."

"Why?"

"I've never been able to figure it out. The incantation is _Revelaro Animalis_. You have to cast it, it won't work if I do it. Do you have a hand mirror?"

"Can we use the one in the bathroom?" Harry asked. He didn't want to find out what extra magic would do to a recently repaired two-way mirror.

"I don't see why not."

In the bathroom, Harry pointed his wand at the mirror. "_Revelaro Animalis!_"

"What do you see?" Remus asked quietly.

Harry squinted into the mirror. "It looks kind of like Moody's Foe-Glass, I guess. It's foggy, but I can see things moving in it."

"Keep watching. One of them will eventually come forward and make eye contact. That's the one."

A hawk flew past Harry's face, followed by a fox, a beetle, and a white ferret. He shivered. What if his Animagus form was a ferret?

_Malfoy would never let me hear the end of it._

An orange cat ran by, and another fox, and a horse, and then a dog...

_Sirius?_

_No, wait. It's not black. It's gray._

The dog turned its head towards Harry. A thin streak of white fur made a lightning-bolt shape on the top of its head, and its eyes were as green as his own.

With a gasp, Harry found himself staring at his own face in an ordinary bathroom mirror.

"Well?" Remus said.

**:Well?:** Prongs wrote.

"A dog. A big dog. Kind of like Sirius, only gray."

**-Gray. Hmm. What's gray?-**

**:That's the color you get when you mix black and white, Padfoot.:**

**-Very funny. My eyes are gray, but I don't think that's workable...- **

**(Cloudy days?)** Moony suggested.

"Ashes are gray," Remus said. "Would Ashcoat do?"

"Ashcoat. Mr. Ashcoat." Harry grinned. "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Ashcoat."

**:Don't forget Duplus and Geminus.:**

**-We're not forgetting them, Prongs, but those aren't proper Marauder names, so they don't go on the Map. This does.-**

**(Besides, if you count Wormtail, Ashcoat is the seventh Marauder. Seven's a lot of names to fit across the top of the Map.)**

"Why not make it just four for now?" Remus said. "Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Ashcoat. If you decide to let the twins in on this, you can always add an extra line or two for their names later."

**(You have a lot of good ideas, you know, Remus.)**

Remus smiled. "So do you, Moony."

**-Quit complimenting yourselves, you two.-**

"I have an idea," Harry said. "Remus, is there going to be a memorial for Sirius?"

"Yes, of course. That was what I was coming to ask you about. We have it tentatively placed three days from now. Is that all right with you?"

"Three days is fine." Harry grinned. "Imagine all the embarrassing stories I can learn from the Marauders in three days."

Remus groaned. "I'm doomed."

"I'll keep the Moony content low," Harry promised. "Padfoot? Prongs? Willing to tell a few on yourselves?"

**:Oh, if we have to...:**

As he read the stories the Map wrote out for him, Harry realized something. _I'm talking to my dad. And to Sirius. Well, to memories of them, anyway. Shouldn't I be a little more uneasy about this?_

But in truth, it felt like talking to Fred and George – the Marauders, as personified in the Map, were not much older than he was, and very into mischief.

_I actually feel very comfortable around them. As if I've known them for a long time. Which I have, of course... sort of..._

_Fred and George are going to love this!_

-----

(A/N: So, what do you think of the Marauders' Map Personal Edition? Good idea? Let me know!

MAndrews: Thanks, I liked that one too!

Quillian: ::tee::

harryp123: Good to see ya!

Lady Cinnibar: No Malfoy-ish-ness? OK. ::snickers to self:: And it is not cheating. It's just making use of all your resources. As for dreams... keep reading, oh perceptive one!

MackenzieW: Thank you, I did have fun writing that!

CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur: What a great acronym, eh?

emikae: Don't shake your fist at her! She might delay HBP! DO NOT ANGER THE GODDESS!

Love and hugs to reviewers as always!)


	18. Comfort and Joy

Chapter 18: Comfort and Joy

"So, what was Wormtail's password?" Harry asked, lying on his bed the next day, the Map in front of him. "I'm going to need it, if you want Fred and George to have it."

**:Here's some irony for you, Harry. "I solemnly swear that I am good for nothing.":**

Harry snorted. "How did he get stuck with that?"

**-We all wrote our own. He said it was a joke, but now I'm not so sure. But let's not bother talking about him. You have his password now, and you have mine, so shouldn't you have Prongs' too? Some of your other friends can have them – Ron, and the girls you talked about. If there aren't enough, you can always write new ones.-**

"What would we do with the accounts?"

**(The same thing we did. Write in them. Record your life, or at least parts of it. You'd be amazed what you forget over the years. Remus was very surprised by quite a lot of what I had to say. And with the kind of life you seem to lead, Harry, an account might be a good thing to have.)**

"What, so someday someone can write a book about me or something?"

**:Need more than one, the way you're going.:**

Harry laughed. "Great. A series. Like Erica Gorelli."

**(Who?)**

Harry started to describe the phenomenon of the Erica Gorelli books. By the time he hit book number three, he was so wrapped up in his explanation that he didn't notice the door opening, or the footsteps coming closer to his bed, until –

"Who are you talking to?" Hermione demanded, yanking back the bedcurtain.

"The Marauders," Harry said, grinning. "Gentlemen, this is Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age or any other. Hermione, Mr. Moony, Mr. Padfoot, and Mr. Prongs."

"Harry, are you out of your mind? The Map isn't..." Hermione broke off, staring. "Oh. Oh, my."

**:Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger. I'm Mr. Prongs.:**

**-Mr. Padfoot, Miss Granger. A pleasure.-**

**(Delighted, Miss Granger. I am Mr. Moony.)**

"Call me Hermione," said the possessor of that name in a carefully polite tone, adding in a whisper, "Harry, is it really... I mean, are they really..."

"Remus says they are," Harry said, nodding. "Apparently, it's like Riddle's diary, but without the possession part."

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful! I mean..." She lowered her voice again. "It'll be like having Sirius back, at least a little, won't it?"

"Well..." Harry shrugged. "Gentlemen, do you mind if I shut you down for a few minutes?"

**(Go ahead, we don't mind.)**

**-Only if you give us details later.-**

Harry frowned. "Details?"

**:Padfoot, you are rude, crude, and should not be allowed out in company. Harry, he thinks you and Hermione want to kiss. I'll sit on him until you activate the Map again.:**

"Thanks, Prongs, I appreciate that. Mischief managed." The Map went blank.

"Won't you get in trouble for using magic?" Hermione asked.

"They can't tell it's me," Harry said as he put the Map aside. "They can't tell, at the Ministry, who uses magic, only where and what it is. I got in trouble for something Dobby did, second year, because I was the only wizard in the area. But this is a wizarding house, with adults using magic legally all over the place. So I can get away with little stuff like activating the Map and... I wonder."

"What?"

"Hermione, would you like to find out what animal you'd be if you were an Animagus?"

Hermione's eyebrows went up. "How?"

Harry explained the spell Remus had taught him, and after a bit of persuasion, Hermione followed him to the bathroom, where she pointed her wand at the mirror and said, "_Revelaro Animalis!_"

To Harry's eyes, nothing happened. Hermione, though, stared, fascinated, into the mirror, following the movements of things visible only to her. At last her eyes fixed on a point. "Oh no," she said in a high-pitched voice. "Oh no – oh no – oh no!"

She took two hasty steps backwards and tripped on the bath mat. Harry caught her. "What is it?" he asked urgently, wondering if it were a slug or something else disgusting.

"I can't say." Hermione had her face in her hands. "I _really _can't say."

"I won't laugh," Harry said.

"Promise? No matter what?"

"Promise."

Hermione swallowed. "It's... it's a ferret. A _white _ferret."

_There are days I really regret having to keep my promises._

"You were asking about Sirius," Harry said hastily, to keep himself in the proper frame of mind.

_Which, at this point, is any frame that won't have me guffawing in Hermione's face..._

"It's really more like making a new friend," he said slowly, thinking it out. "The Sirius I knew had gone through things that this Sirius – call him Padfoot – that Padfoot never has. Sirius saw my parents get married, he was my godfather, he was an adult to me. Padfoot is only a year or so older than I am. It's great to get to know him, but no, it's not like having Sirius back."

"Nothing ever will be, will it," Hermione said sadly.

Harry shook his head, feeling his eyes fill up. _Here I go again..._

But it was a short cry, and Hermione held him through it, and he felt better afterwards.

"And what I actually came upstairs to tell you is that lunch is almost ready," Hermione said guiltily as Harry splashed cold water on his face. "Will you be all right?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks, 'Mione."

"What else are friends for?" she asked with a smile as they went downstairs.

-----

Rather later that day, Harry finally got back to the Map.

**-We've been waiting, you know.-**

"Sorry, but first I got roped into doing the lunch dishes, then Ron wanted to ask when I thought he should hold Quidditch tryouts, and finally George showed up for my guitar lesson. So I've been a little busy."

**:Lay off, Padfoot. It's not as if we were bored or anything.:**

**-I was.-**

**:No, you weren't.:**

**-Yes, I was.-**

**:No, you weren't, and quit arguing with me, it just takes up room. Harry, do you want my password now?:**

"Sure."

**:It's "I solemnly say that I am up to no good." My mother always told me it was bad manners to swear.:**

"Thanks," Harry said. "Can you hold that on there for a second? I need to find a quill."

**(Do you have your wand?)**

"Why?"

**(Because you can copy it straight from the Map to another piece of parchment. The spell is "Effingo" – the 'g' is soft like a 'j'. Put your wand on the writing on the Map and say the spell, then tap it twice on the blank parchment. It should transfer exactly as it is.)**

Harry found a scrap of parchment. "_Effingo_," he said, touching his wand to the two sentences in Prongs' handwriting. They vanished.

He tapped his wand twice on the other parchment, and suddenly the words were there, glistening as if they'd just been written. "It worked!"

Looking at the password in his father's handwriting, Harry had an idea...

-----

"How exactly are you going to make it 'better'?" George asked suspiciously the next day, as he handed Harry the poster of the three Marauders.

"You'll see," Harry said, grinning. "Wait here."

He ran up the stairs and activated the Map. First Padfoot, then Prongs, signed their names with flourishes, and Harry transferred the signatures to the photograph. After replacing the glass and frame he'd taken off it, he carefully carried the poster back downstairs.

"Here you are."

"Wicked," George said in tones of awe, admiring the new signatures. "How'd you do that?"

"Want to come and see?" Harry asked.

"Sure."

When the Marauders' greetings began to appear on the Map, George took two quick steps back.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Are you out of your mind?" George growled. "After what happened to Ginny with that damn diary, you're going to talk to a bloody piece of parchment?"

"You gave me this 'bloody piece of parchment', if you don't recall," Harry snapped. "Besides, we know who made it, and who's in it, and we didn't know that with the diary. And Remus says it's safe, so would you _please calm down_?"

**(As a matter of fact, I think that's good advice for both of you.)**

**-Yes. Ashcoat, Geminus, please, relax.-**

**:Are the rest of the Weasleys likely to react this way?:**

"Probably," George said, shaking his head a little. "Mum's been a little worried about you, Harry. Says you're spending too much time in your room the last couple of days. If this is why, she's going to go through the roof. Probably try to destroy it."

"She can't do that! It's mine!"

"Never stopped her before," George said darkly. "Wait a second." He looked at the map again. "What's Geminus?"

**-You. Or at least, that's what we always called you. Your brother was Duplus. It was how we told you apart. If you want real Marauder names, Harry can tell you how to get them...-**

George used the scrying spell, but he refused to tell Harry what he saw. "I'll have to show Fred first," he said. "Then we'll talk it over and let you know. In the meantime, why don't we do what I actually came for?"

After his lesson, Harry found Remus in the study. "I need some help," he said. "It's about the Map. The Weasleys probably won't be too happy about it, considering the diary and all..."

"True enough. Talking with the Map is no more dangerous than talking with a portrait, but it may be hard to convince them of that. Let me talk to Arthur and Molly about it."

-----

Whatever Remus said to the Weasleys, Harry was grateful for it. They asked him the next morning if he would activate the Map for them, then put it through a series of tests (with the Marauders making comments throughout) before pronouncing it safe to use. They even allowed, and supervised, Ron's and Ginny's scrying for Animagus forms.

"Though this does not mean I will countenance you four becoming Animagi yourselves," Mrs. Weasley said sternly.

Ron yelped and jumped backwards only a few seconds after he had cast the spell. "A big hawk!" he said in an awed voice. "It was a big hawk with red feathers on its wings!"

Ginny hit her forehead gently against the mirror when her turn was over. "Orange tabby cat," she said in a tone of mingled disgust and amusement. "Just like Madam Fleming turned me into."

"You made a cute cat," Harry said, trying to cheer her up.

Ginny punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow."

Ron chose Redwing for his Marauder name, and Ginny settled on Flamepaws. Hermione, who refused to tell anyone else her Animagus form, nonetheless named herself Aldima. The twins were likewise reticent, but when Harry got the Map back from them and activated it, it read,

_**Messrs. and Madames Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, Vulpes, Reynard, Ashcoat, Redwing, Aldima, and Flamepaws present**_

_**The Marauders' Map**_

_**Personal Edition**_

_**Welcome, Mr. Ashcoat.**_

"Vulpes and Reynard?" Hermione asked, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Really, could you be any more obvious?"

"How about letting the rest of us in on it?" Ron said.

"If you do, we'll tell yours," Fred threatened.

"You don't know mine," Hermione said smugly. "No one does."

"We discovered an interesting modification to the spell that lets us see other people's forms," George said even more smugly. "So we know why you don't want anyone else to know."

Hermione quickly drew a finger across her mouth. "My lips are sealed," she said solemnly.

"As are ours," Fred promised as he and George made the same gesture.

"Do you know it?" Ron asked Harry quietly.

Harry crossed his fingers under the table and shook his head.

"Now we need passwords," Fred said. "George and I can share an account, I think, we share everything else..."

"I know the perfect account for you," Harry said quickly. "Here's the password."

Grinning, he scribbled Wormtail's password onto a scrap of parchment and passed it down to George, who pocketed it for later.

_Note to self: be around when George opens that._

Ron took Padfoot's old password, and Harry took Prongs'. Hermione and Ginny would create their own later, since the original four (Remus kept his own, of course) were all taken.

"It usually takes about two weeks' worth of entries before a personality accumulates enough to be able to interact with you," Remus told them. "Until then, just speak to the Map clearly, and be sure to tell it what to do. There's nothing worse than losing your entire entry just because you forgot to tell it to save. After your personality activates, it will do that for you."

The old Marauders would be free agents of sorts – they could chat with anyone who was using the Map, but they were magically bound to go away if someone told them to, and not to reveal any secrets to anyone else.

**-Nuts,-** was Padfoot's comment. **-How am I supposed to annoy anyone if I have to go away every time they tell me to?-**

**(I'm sure you'll still manage just fine.)**

-----

The next day was Sirius' memorial service.

Harry was up early, pacing, trying to help but mostly getting in the way, anything to avoid the memories that were crowding in on him. Finally, when he didn't think he could stand it any longer, he went to the music room.

_People will be expecting me to cry, but I have a feeling unless I let some of it out now, I might not be able to stop..._

He locked the door, sat down on the sofa, and sighed heavily. "I still miss him," he said to the piano. "Every day. I get up and almost expect to hear his voice calling me down to breakfast, or see him waiting for me by the stairs. I wonder what he'd think of something, and then I remember that I'll never know. And maybe it's not my fault he's dead, but it sure feels like it..."

His vision blurred. _That did it._

This crying felt somehow different from what he had done before. The sobs in his earlier bouts had felt like they were trying to tear him apart, but had subsided rather quickly. These trudged out of him wearily, in repetitive throbbing pulses that felt as if they'd never stop.

_All right, so maybe this wasn't such a good idea..._

He heard a sound behind him and turned, still shaking with sobs, to see what it was.

Ginny, dressed in a lovely robe of deep blue, stood up from her seat in the corner. In one hand, she held her clarinet, the clarinet he had given her for her birthday.

_How did I miss her? God, I don't want her to see me like this, she'll hate me..._

Eyes locked on Harry's, she raised the clarinet to her lips and began to play.

_God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay..._

Harry recalled Sirius singing to Buckbeak that past Christmas. The memory, instead of paining him, seemed to bring him calm. Slowly, he got his breathing under control.

_Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,_

_Oh, tidings of comfort and joy._

Ginny lowered her instrument and smiled at him. Without a word, she slipped out.

-----

True to Sirius' wishes, there were no speeches at his memorial. Instead, everyone took turns telling stories, or leading songs – Kingsley Shacklebolt taught them a couple that made Mrs. Weasley stare a bit, but she let it pass in honor of the day – or simply saying a few words.

Hermione admitted that part of her decision to learn the drums was from knowing that Sirius had enjoyed drumming. Professor McGonagall contributed a few tales from her own point of view, mostly disapproving, though she sounded as if she had secretly admired the Marauders for being so daring. Harry knew the most stories on Sirius and his father, courtesy of the Map, though of course he couldn't top Remus.

But the most memorable part of the service, everyone agreed, was something Ron and Ginny had gotten together on their own, and managed to keep secret from Harry. It hadn't been hard, he had to admit, with him spending so much time in his room with the Map.

Ron went to the piano, with Hermione to turn pages for him, while Ginny stood beside him with her clarinet. Ron began a series of slow chords with his left hand, playing a simple melody with his right. When the melody was complete, he paused, and Ginny began to play. Now she was the melody, Ron simply accompaniment.

Harry thought he had never heard anything so beautiful.

His favorite moment was when the melody, which had been in the lower range of the clarinet and moving only in small intervals, suddenly leapt up nearly an octave. He found himself memorizing Ginny's face as she played, the look of intense concentration and single-mindedness.

_I wonder if that's what I look like when I play? Or sing?_

"Handel's _Largo_," Professor Dumbledore said over the applause. "Lovely. Well done, both of you."

Ron and Ginny, both blushing, took a bow.

-----

Over the next two weeks, Harry found himself crying less and less often. Often, when he would feel teary, the sound of Ginny's clarinet would rise in his mind, and he would feel the same peace he had felt when she first played for him.

This, among other things, he duly recorded in his Map account, when he had a chance. One Map among so many people was occasionally hard to manage.

Some of the "other things" had to do with his dreams, and how much he enjoyed them, when they didn't feature Dolores Umbridge or Voldemort...

-----

_Ah, ah, beautiful is the Mother,_

_Ah, ah, beautiful is the Child!_

"Very good," Big Guy said, lowering his arms. "Tenors, watch the cut-off on the ah's, you were a little early..."

Harry looked out the window. The Stute Center, the school gym, was across the street, framed by trees. Most of them were still green, but here and there a spray of leaves was yellow, or red, or the shocking orange Erica said meant a sugar maple. He was looking forward to the full color of fall – some of the photographs he'd seen were little short of astounding.

_I am really enjoying it here. Rain two days out of three or not._

"All right, everyone, from 'Skies are glowing...' "

Harry sat up straight and prepared to sing.

-----

Later, Harry was bored. At various places around the girls' quad, Erica was working with Ginny on a tricky passage in a play she was doing a presentation on, Fran was helping Hermione with an English paper, and Rose was listening to Ron play on her keyboard. Lanie, Anna, and Edith were out at the gym, leaving only one person for him to talk with...

"What're you working on, Lizzie?"

"Birthday chart," she said, waving him over. "I'm going to need yours at some point, all of you, you don't happen to know them, do you?"

"Actually, yeah," Harry said, looking the chart over. "Mine's July 31, Hermione is September 19..."

"Ooh, coming up, I'll have to get on that," Lizzie said, making a note.

"Ginny's August 11, and Ron is March 1," Harry finished.

"OK. For you and Ginny, we'll have to do halves..."

"Halves?"

"Half-birthdays. You're summer babies, we won't be here on your real birthdays, so we celebrate on your half-birthday, six months away from the real thing. Yours is January 31, Ginny's is February 11. What kind of cake do you like?"

-----

"You know, I thought of something," Harry said to Hermione as they sat in the front room with Ron and Ginny. "How are we going to continue lessons at school? Fred and George have the shop to tend, and it's not like we're paying..."

"Ah, they can always come by Floo," Ginny said. "Once or twice a week, maybe. You can practice a lot in between times. Room of Requirement would be good for practicing – maybe it would segment itself into practice rooms for each of us..."

"I wonder if we could get music there?" Hermione said. "I know we can't take it out of the Room, but if we could get it and copy it, wouldn't the copies stay?"

"D'you think it'll have a piano, if I need one?" Ron asked. "I mean, you lot can carry your instruments around – even you, Hermione, with a good shrinking charm you can get a drum set in a box – but shrinking pianos doesn't work so well, it sends them out of tune or something, so I'm going to need one somewhere in the castle..."

When Ron wasn't around, Harry asked Remus a few questions.

-----

On the morning of September 1, Harry woke up early. He dressed quietly and pulled the package he'd prepared out of his trunk, which was otherwise packed and ready.

Then he jumped on the bottom of Ron's bed.

"Happy half-birthday!" he said cheerily as Ron blinked owlishly at him.

"What?"

"Happy half-birthday. I almost always forget your real birthday, we're busy with homework and stuff, so here, this is in case I forget again this year." He handed Ron the wrapped package.

"Harry, you didn't have to..."

"No, but I wanted to," Harry interrupted. "Go on, open it."

Ron ripped the paper off the box and opened it. Inside was an oddly shaped, white piece of wood.

"What is it?"

"Hold it out in front of you, by the fat end, and tap it three times with your wand," Harry said, grinning.

Ron did so, and gasped as an upright piano sprang into existence between the beds, with him holding the slightly raised, middle C key. "Harry... you _really_ didn't have to... but thanks, it's great!"

"Guaranteed not to detune in transit," Harry said. "Three more taps sends it back to storage form."

Ron gave the C key the required three taps, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. Grinning widely, he picked it up and put it back in its box, and the box in his trunk. "I'm taking _good_ care of this."

"Boys, are you up?" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs. "Girls? Come on, you'll miss the train!"

"So, another year," Harry said, starting to lug his trunk toward the door. "Wonder what it's got in store for us?"

"Only one thing for sure," Ron said, digging socks out of his trunk.

"What's that?"

"Homework."

_True enough. Homework in abundance. And classes with Snape again – probably Occlumency too, Remus did say I had to – and an as-of-yet unknown DADA professor._

_But I'm going back to Hogwarts. Going home._

_I'd put up with a lot more for that._

He pulled his trunk down the stairs, humming to himself, and then laughing when he realized what he was humming.

_Nice one, Harry. Christmas carols in September._

But the refrain stayed with him, setting his mood for the morning.

_Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy..._

-----

(A/N: Sorry for late update, everyone, was home for weekend! Warning, it may happen again, so be prepared!

pad's gurl584: You're welcome!

Unita Vis Fortior: Thanks for reviews! Hope you keep reading!

emikae: Uh-huh. OK.

MackenzieW: A little Erica in this chappie, more to come... genius?! ::blush::

Lady Cinnibar: You're not a dunce! I think I answered 1 and 3 in the chappie, and as for 2... I don't know, so I'm just letting it slide.

MAndrews: Maybe this shows what a newbie I am, but I had to look up "glomp". It provided me and Lizzie with a good ten minutes of entertainment. Thanks so much!

sabs: Thanks for the idea!

Thank you to everyone! Remember, the longer the reviews, the sooner the update!)


	19. Here We Go Again

Chapter 19: Here We Go Again

Harry left his trunk in the hallway and went down to the kitchen. Fred and George were sitting at one end of the table talking something over.

" – no, if we do that, they'll come out in spots."

"I thought that was the point."

"No, we're after stripes this time, remember?"

Mrs. Weasley was emptying a frying pan full of bacon onto a plate being held by –

_Uh-oh._

Harry braced himself.

"Harry Potter, sir!" squealed Dobby. The plate went flying as the house-elf streaked across the kitchen in a blur of color to give Harry his usual enthusiastic hug.

"Hi, Dobby," Harry said, trying to ignore the twins' snickering. "How are you?"

"Dobby is just fine, sir..." The house-elf looked up at Harry with a rather mournful look. "But Dobby is wanting to ask Harry Potter something."

"Ask away."

"Professor Dumbledore says this fine house is belonging to Harry Potter now, and..." Dobby took a deep breath as if nerving himself up for something. "Dobby wondered if Harry Potter would wish a house-elf to live here, to be in service full-time."

"Well, Hermione'd have my hide," Harry said frankly. "With her _spew_ thing. Unless of course I paid my house-elf, and most house-elves don't want to get paid..." Then he realized what Dobby was on about, and wanted to hit himself in the head, except that it might give the elf ideas. "Dobby, do you want to be my house-elf?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" Dobby nodded eagerly, then suddenly reverted to sad. "But Dobby does have a problem, sir. Dobby is wishing to stay near Winky, sir, and Winky would not be wanting paying for her work, so Harry Potter could not hire her and Mistress Miney would be most unhappy with him..."

"Dobby, do you like Winky?" Harry asked. "I mean – _like _her?"

Dobby nodded, flushing (which, for a house-elf, apparently entailed turning a brighter shade of puce than usual).

"Well, then, of course she can come too," Harry said. "I won't insist on paying her if it's going to make her unhappy. And if I'm going to have you lot as houseguests," he said over his shoulder to the twins, "I'm going to need two house-elves."

Dobby was grinning hugely. "Dobby will go back to Hogwarts as soon as he helps Mrs. Wheezy finish with breakfast to tell Winky the good news!" he said, and hurried back to the stove, where Mrs. Weasley was standing with her arms folded, trying to look stern and mostly succeeding. But Harry could see a smile trying to get onto her face, and he understood why – when Dobby was happy, he was so _very_ happy that it was contagious.

He went and sat down at the table, idly watching the twins make notes on a piece of scrap paper. Smiling to himself, he remembered the day they had all gone shopping at Diagon Alley. While Ron was busy stocking up on his brothers' products, Harry had cornered the twins and done a little quiet blackmail...

-----

"Gentlemen, we need to talk," Harry said, motioning Fred and George to a quiet corner of the store, near the poster of the Marauders, which hung in pride of place on the side wall.

"What about, oh intelligent financial backer of ours?" asked George.

"You and Hermione," Harry said quietly. "You are _not_ allowed to tell anyone her Animagus form. _Especially_ not Ron. Understand?"

"And how do you plan to stop us?" Fred asked.

"If you do, I'll tell your mother the one thing you don't want her to know."

"What's that?"

"How to tell you apart."

The twins exchanged startled glances. "Harry, not to be rude, but no one's ever figured that out in 18 years," Fred said.

"What makes you so sure you can do it?" George finished.

Harry pulled his wand. So did the twins.

"That's what," he said, pointing at them.

The twins turned to face each other. "What's it?" George asked. "Looks the same to me."

"Yep. Identical as always. Like looking in a mirror," Fred agreed.

"That's the point. _Like looking in a mirror._ Left and right are reversed in a mirror. Aren't they?"

"Oh yeah," Fred said, as if this was a revelation to him. "So?"

"_And_ I've been watching you write."

George sagged. "Damn."

Harry grinned. "You favor different hands. That's your secret. And if your _mother_ knew that Fred was left-handed and George was right..."

"Who would have thought," Fred said ruefully, putting his wand away. "Our own parents never even noticed it."

"That's because we switched places on them so often they lost track," George pointed out. "All right, Harry, you win. We won't tell anyone about Hermione."

"But how do you know it's embarrassing to her?" Fred asked. "She said no one else knew about it."

Harry shrugged. "If it means that much to her, it must be embarrassing."

To his relief, the twins didn't press him further. "So, Harry, now that's done with, would you be interested in our newest line of Whistling Sugar Quills?" George asked. "We've gone intercontinental with this batch – maple sugar flavored, very nice..."

-----

As they walked to King's Cross, Mrs. Weasley in the lead, the twins behind, Ron and Ginny talking about Quidditch, and Hermione discussing N.E.W.T. Defense with Remus, Harry tried not to remember that this time last year, Sirius had been with them, happily scattering pigeons in his enormous dog form...

Thinking about his latest dream helped to keep his mind off things. Life at Carrington was starting to get a little hectic, especially since flyers announcing auditions for the first play of the year, _Twelfth Night_, had gone up. Ginny had been just a bit nervous about the tryouts...

-----

"I shouldn't have come," Ginny whispered, staring into the packed classroom. "There's so many people. I'll never get in."

"Of course not, if you don't try out," Harry said, trying to be encouraging. "I'll go in with you, if you like."

"Thanks." Ginny smiled gratefully and pressed his hand.

"Audition forms," said a girl with very short brown hair as they entered the room, holding out two sheets of paper.

"I don't need one, I'm not staying," Harry said, waving her off.

"Why not? Doesn't hurt to try," the girl pointed out.

"We were just discussing that very point," Ginny said with a smile. "Please, Harry? I know you don't have any homework tonight."

"Well... all right." Harry took the form and the pencil the girl handed him and found a seat at one of the tables. It was standard, name, phone number, and so on, though he was a little surprised at the height, weight, and hair color slots. He also didn't have anything to put under "experience", so he left it blank.

The audition consisted of a cold reading of a scene, which meant that the two people involved had never seen the scene before. Ginny and Harry had a bit of an advantage, having just finished studying _Twelfth Night_ in their theatre class. The director also let them read together, relieving a little more of Ginny's case of nerves.

The scene was between Viola, disguised as the page Cesario, and her master, the Duke Orsino. The strange, stilted language felt heavy in Harry's mouth, but Ginny seemed to be able to say even the most difficult passages without tripping over anything. She made the five-hundred-year-old words sound like a normal conversation.

_That's good. I think._

"Thank you," the director said, making some notes on his clipboard. "Cast list will be up by tomorrow afternoon."

-----

_And that was last night. So tonight should be tomorrow, and we'll get to tomorrow afternoon tonight, unless tomorrow morning takes a while, in which case we'll get to tomorrow afternoon tomorrow..._

_I'm going to stop now, before I drive myself crazy._

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"We're here."

Harry looked around. They were, indeed, inside King's Cross station, facing the barrier between platforms nine and ten. "Sorry," he said. "I was thinking about something."

"Shall we?" Remus said, taking a step forward. Harry nodded, and together they passed through the barrier onto platform nine and three quarters, crowded and noisy with all the students and their families.

"Harry!" shouted an excited voice. Harry turned to see Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff in his year and part of the DA, running toward him. "Harry, I wanted to tell you – I've been made prefect! There's a new one in every house from our year!"

"That's great!" Harry said, shaking her hand. "Congratulations. Do you know either of the others?"

"Mandy Brocklehurst for Ravenclaw. She's kind of quiet, but really smart."

"No surprise for a Ravenclaw," Ron said, having come through in time to hear this.

"And Blaise Zabini for Slytherin."

"Who?" Ron asked. "Is that a boy or a girl?"

"Boy," Hermione said sharply. "Honestly, you don't even know all the people in your own year?"

"Not the Slytherins, I don't," Ron retorted.

"Harry, you remember him, don't you? He can see thestrals."

Harry nodded. He did remember... because it had only been him, and Neville, and a stringy-looking Slytherin boy who had been able to see the things Hagrid had taught them about in his first lesson after returning to Hogwarts the previous year, the jet-black, skeletal horses which were only visible to those who had seen death...

"He's not so bad, for a Slytherin," Susan said. "I heard a rumor he was sweet on a Gryffindor girl. Do you know if that's true?"

"Not sure," Hermione said. "Do you know who?"

Susan shook her head. "Sorry. Like I said, just a rumor. But have you heard..." She, Hermione, and Ginny walked off towards the front of the train, discussing the latest gossip.

"Let's find seats," Ron said. "For later, anyway. Remember, we have to go up front and get orders from the Head Boy and Girl."

"Right," Harry said, trying hard not to grin at the "we" part. "Wait, where's Tonks? She said she'd meet us here with the luggage..."

Ron stared beyond Harry's shoulder. "I think I see her," he said weakly.

Harry turned around. A gorgeous blond woman with some very well-emphasized curves was strolling toward them, towing a loaded luggage cart. "Wotcher, Harry, Ron, Remus," she said in Tonks' voice as she reached them. She scowled at Ron. "Put your eyeballs back in, Ronniekins, or I'll curse your eyelids shut."

The sound of his hated nickname seemed to shock Ron back to normality. "Er, thanks, Tonks," he said, turning around and groping behind him for his trunk. Harry rolled his eyes and dragged both Ron's and his own trunks off the cart, putting the handle of Ron's into his friend's hand and reaching for Hedwig's cage with his freed hand.

It wasn't where it had been. Harry looked around, a little startled.

"Allow me?" Remus said with a chuckle. He was holding both Hedwig and Pigwidgeon in their respective cages.

"Thanks," Harry said as Hermione and Ginny came running up to greet Tonks and collect their things. The Hogwarts Express gave its warning whistle, and they climbed aboard to find a compartment.

"Down here," Ginny called after a moment. "Luna's saved us one."

"Oh, great," Ron said under his breath. Hermione kicked him.

"Hello, everyone," Luna said, looking up from the latest issue of _The Quibbler_ as they entered. "Hello, Professor Lupin. Are you coming back to teach Defense again this year?"

"No, I'm not," Remus said politely. "I wish I were, though. Hogwarts is a wonderful place."

"I wish you were, too," said Luna dreamily. "You were a very good teacher. Daddy didn't mind you being a werewolf at all."

Harry wasn't sure if he was allowed to laugh at this. He certainly wanted to.

"But I will be taking the train with you," Remus said. "Professor Dumbledore wants to meet with me about something, and this is as good a way to get to Hogwarts as any."

"We're coming too," Fred announced, appearing in the compartment door. "Just to see the old pile again."

"Un-Umbridge-ified," George added over his brother's shoulder. "And to see our Memorial Swamp, of course."

The train whistle shrieked again, and Harry and the Weasleys hurried out of the compartment to say their goodbyes. Mrs. Weasley kissed them all, including Hermione and Harry, and told all them to behave or else, even the twins. Even after they'd boarded the train, she stood on the platform waving until the train turned the corner and they lost sight of her.

"Come on," Ron said, leading the way out of the compartment. "Be back in a while," he added to Remus, Fred, George, Ginny, and Luna.

"Ron! Hermione! Harry!"

It was Neville Longbottom, as usual looking a bit flustered, with his pet toad, Trevor, held firmly in one hand and his trunk behind him. "Hello, Neville," Hermione said. "How was your summer?"

"Fine," Neville said, carefully putting Trevor into his pocket so he could shake hands with them. "Can I sit with you?"

"If you can find room," Harry said, motioning to the compartment. "We'll be back later."

"Oh, that's right, you're prefects," Neville said, nodding. "See you later, then."

"Bye," Ron said as Neville started dragging his trunk into the compartment.

The three set off up the car, crossed between cars, and stopped.

"It couldn't last, could it," Ron said grimly.

Standing at the other end of the car, facing away from them, were three of the people Harry had not been looking forward to seeing at Hogwarts – Draco Malfoy and his thugs, Crabbe and Goyle, flanking him as usual. The blond boy was talking to someone that Harry couldn't see, because Crabbe and Goyle were in the way. Cautiously, he moved forward, listening.

"... think he _cares_ about you? You're out of your mind! So listen up, Lamb, and listen right. If I ever see you hanging around the dungeons again, I'll – "

"Is there a problem?" Harry said loudly.

Malfoy jumped and spun to face him. "Well, well, Pot-head Potter. What are you doing up here? This is the way to the prefects' compartment, and you're not a..." He trailed off as Harry casually pulled his badge from his pocket. An ugly look came onto his face. "Favoritism," he spat. "That's all it is, just pure Gryffindor favoritism from that Muggle-loving idiot..."

"There's a new prefect in every house from our year, Malfoy," Hermione said, stepping up to Harry's side. "How is it favoritism, if there's one from every house?"

"You're making it up," Malfoy said snidely. "Just to try and get me off Potter's case. Well, it won't work, Granger. There is no new Slytherin prefect from our year..."

"Oh yeah?" said a new voice from behind them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned.

The Slytherin boy who could see thestrals stood there, green and silver badge pinned to his robes. "So what does that make me?" he said tartly to Malfoy. "Chopped dragon liver?"

"Well, excuse me for not knowing, Zabini," Malfoy snapped. "Come on, we're going to be late." He turned and pushed between Crabbe and Goyle, who followed him, finally giving Harry a good look at the person Malfoy had been harassing.

It was a tall, slim girl with long brown hair, leaning against the wall of the car with her eyes shut, her face annoyingly familiar to Harry. The Slytherin boy, who must be Blaise Zabini, stepped between Harry and Hermione with a polite "Excuse me" and touched her gently on the shoulder. "Colleen," he said softly.

Her eyes opened. "Oh, hello, Blaise," she said tiredly. "Malfoy was just telling me what he'll do if he catches me 'hanging around the dungeons'."

"He won't do anything," Zabini said, tapping his badge. "I won't let him." He turned around. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Thanks for that," said the Slytherin. "I'm Blaise Zabini, in case you didn't catch it."

"This is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," Harry said, gesturing to his friends. Blaise offered his hand to Hermione, who shook it with only a moment's hesitation. Ron was a little more open about taking his time, but they finally shook after a moment of glaring at each other.

"And I'm Colleen Lamb," the girl said.

"I know," Hermione said, smiling. "We do share a dormitory, after all."

"You're a Gryffindor?" Ron blurted. "Our year?"

Harry swallowed his chagrin. _She's my house, my year, and I didn't even know her name?_

"Yeah," Colleen said, looking at the floor. "I'm kind of quiet, I guess."

"Come on, they'll be waiting for us," Hermione said, looking anxiously at the end of the car. "Colleen, do you want to sit with us? We're one car back that way, you can't miss our compartment, the Weasley twins are there. Just tell them we sent you. We'll be back later."

"Thanks," Colleen said, smiling at them as they hurried to the end of the car and through to the large prefects' compartment.

"So how many other girls do you share a room with that we don't know?" Ron asked Hermione as they found seats and waited for the Head Boy and Girl to arrive.

"It's just me, Lavender, Parvati, and Colleen," Hermione said. "Sally-Anne Perks was the fifth Gryffindor girl in our year, but her parents moved to Canada in the middle of her third year, so she's not at Hogwarts any more."

A boy Harry didn't know walked in the door, followed by a girl he most assuredly did.

_Cho? _

_Cho is Head Girl?_

_This might be interesting._

But Cho never even glanced Harry's way. The Head Boy, who introduced himself as David Masterson, a Hufflepuff, did most of the talking, explaining prefects' duties, assigning the prefects to different parts of the train, and pointing out "the new faces among us", getting each new prefect – the newly appointed sixth- and seventh-years and the fifth-years – to stand up and state their name. Harry didn't see much point in him doing it, since the entire school knew his name anyway, but he went along, getting the usual amount of stares and whispers.

"Blaise," he said as the meeting broke up.

"Yeah?"

"You want to sit with us?"

Ron made a funny noise behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione's foot move.

"OW! What was that for?"

"Sure," Blaise said, smiling a little at Ron, who was locked in a staring contest with Hermione. "Hey, did you really run a secret Defense Against the Dark Arts club last year?"

"Yeah. The DA, the Defense Association. It's official now, anyone who wants to can join. We don't have to worry about someone ratting us out to Um-bitch."

Blaise snorted. "She really was awful, wasn't she? Not to mention totally unfair. Not that I minded all the points to Slytherin, but I'd rather we win fairly if we can... did you say _anyone_ can join this DA of yours?"

"Yes. Why, are you interested?"

"Some. When's your first meeting?"

"I'll let you know," Harry said, opening the door of the compartment. "It is going to be crowded in here," he said, surveying the already almost full interior.

"We'll leave," the twins said in unison, standing up.

"Good," Hermione said grumpily from the hall. "You take up as much room as four normal people anyway."

"Are you implying we're not normal, Miss Granger?"

"We're hurt."

Fred and George both clasped their hands over their chests and groaned, then walked off down the hallway, whistling cheerfully, and off-key, in unison.

Hermione sighed. "Those two," she said, sounding eerily like Mrs. Weasley, before she entered the compartment. Blaise followed her in, and Harry was about to go in when Ron grabbed his sleeve.

"We need to talk," he hissed.

"What about?" Harry asked, closing the door.

"Him!" Ron said, waving through the glass at Blaise. "Harry, he's a Slytherin! Are you out of your mind, inviting him to sit with us, join the DA? He'll probably rat us out to You-Know-Who first chance he gets!"

"Ron."

"And he can see thestrals, which means he saw someone _die_, which means he's probably even deeper in with You-Know-Who than Malfoy is..."

"Ron."

"Harry, this isn't a good idea!"

"Ron!"

"What?!"

Harry took a deep breath, vowing not to yell at his best friend. "Ron, we don't even know him. All we know is, he's a Slytherin."

"Isn't that enough?" Ron said angrily.

"No. Would you trust a Gryffindor, any Gryffindor?"

"Yes."

"So did my parents," Harry snapped. "And they _died._"

Ron paled. "Oh."

"All I'm saying is, let's give him a chance. All right?"

Ron sighed. "All right."

"... so then they dropped the Quaffle _again_, and I was screaming at the wireless," Blaise was saying as they entered the compartment. " 'Pick it up, you bloody idiots, the name's Cannons, not Cannonballs!' "

"Did you say _Cannons_?" Ron said, all hostility forgotten. "You support the Cannons?"

"Always have," Blaise said. "Why, do you?"

Ron nodded eagerly and quickly sat down beside Blaise, starting into his usual tirade about how the team was mismanaged, and they could make it to the finals, the talent was there, if they could just learn to work _together..._

Ginny shot Harry an amused glance from across the compartment, and Remus winked at him before returning to his book. Luna was still reading _The Quibbler_, Hermione and Colleen were discussing N.E.W.T. level Charms, and Neville appeared to be feeding bits of Chocolate Frog to something in a pot. Harry wasn't inclined to investigate.

_Now, if the year only goes this well..._

He pulled out his copy of _An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration_ and opened it to his place.

_Another year, another set of lessons, and another round of adventures. _

_And, probably, another bunch of people trying to kill me._

_As they say, here we go again._

-----

(A/N: ::hides under desk, reaches up timidly to type:: I'm so sorry! Really, I am! Please forgive me, and review anyway... and I won't do it again, I promise...

emikae, MackenzieW, Caprice-Ann HedicanKocur (the reason for the delay was that I had to research and prepare a 30-minute speech which I gave in class today... wrote chappie in the relief of having it OVER with), blueJosh (no, I didn't fall off a cliff, I just feel like I did, stupid cold... and were you being snide in your last Extenuating review?), pad's gurl584, Lady Cinnibar, and Lanie (already told you, and you know perfectly well I don't have a life!): Thanks everyone!

See you next time... which will be sooner than last time! Promise!)


	20. Made It

Chapter 20: Made It

The train ride was fairly uneventful. A number of seventh-years discovered Remus and hauled him off to their compartment to talk with them about Defense N.E.W.Ts. Fred and George stopped back every now and again to drop off their earnings, which were accumulating at an alarming rate. The food trolley came by, and Ron insisted on treating everyone, beaming with pride at actually being able to pay for something.

Mostly, though, the eight of them just talked. Blaise was a witty conversationalist, and Colleen might be quiet, but she was worth listening to when she did say something.

Blaise, it developed, was in a number of the classes Harry, Ron, and Hermione were also taking – N.E.W.T. Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense, Care of Magical Creatures, and the interdisciplinary Muggle defense course. Colleen was also in Charms with them, and she would be continuing in Herbology and (to Harry's surprise) Potions.

"I don't like Snape," she admitted. "He scares me. But he's a good teacher when he's not being mean, and I like Potions. It makes sense to me – do certain things, get a certain result."

"I don't much like him myself," Blaise said, looking a little shamefaced. "I guess that's not very loyal of me, but to tell the truth, I'm not sure what I should be loyal to. Slytherin House is kind of divided against itself right now. I want to get ahead in life, and I like knowing what other people might not know, so I'm a Slytherin – but there are a lot of Slytherins who are just interested in being Dark. I'm sure you know who I mean."

"Nope, no idea at all," Ginny said airily. Everyone laughed.

"He goes about trying to _recruit_," Blaise said in disgust. "Talking about how much better off we'll all be after the Mud – er, Muggleborns," he amended hastily with a glance at Hermione, "are gone. Most of the Slytherins in our year are on his side. I may ask to move dormitories. Got any room up there in the attics?"

"Better attics than dungeons," Ron said with a snort. "Is it true your common room's under the lake?"

"Oh, it's true," Blaise said. "Goyle tried to get into the girls' dorm one time and proved it."

"So you're not allowed in either?" Harry said. "Ron tried to get up the stairs of the girls' side once – an alarm went off, and the whole thing turned into a slide."

"Thanks for sharing," Ron said, elbowing Harry.

"So how did Goyle prove the Slytherin dorms are under the lake by trying to sneak into the girls' dorm?" Hermione asked loudly.

"The ceiling opened up and about twenty gallons of water fell on his head," Blaise said gleefully. "With a fish or two included. It was brilliant. He smelled like seaweed for three days – it would have been even funnier if I didn't have to sleep in the same room with him."

"He always smells like seaweed, though," Luna said thoughtfully. "And Crabbe smells like old socks."

Blaise almost fell off the seat laughing. "The worst part is," he choked out, "she's _right!_"

"Do they ever bathe?" Harry asked, grinning.

"On the rare occasion Draco's not in the bathroom, yes, I have seen them go in there," Blaise said. "But I'm not sure if they know how to use the showers or not."

"Do they ever talk?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Rarely. And not much when they do. I think 'Pass the potatoes' is the most I've ever heard one of them say at a time."

"How do you _find_ your common room?" Ron asked. "Ours is behind a painting, but yours is just a blank bit of wall – how do you find the right bit?"

Blaise frowned. "How'd you know that?"

"Saw Malfoy going in one time," Harry said quickly, stepping on Ron's foot. This was neither the time or the place to discuss their adventure in second year with the Polyjuice Potion.

"Well, it's just like getting to anywhere else in the castle. You learn where it is, and then you know. Besides, if you look really closely, there's markings in the stone. Probably from a thousand years of sliding open and shut. Yours is behind a painting? That's right, I remember Halloween of third year, when Sirius Black got in the castle, he slashed the painting when the person wouldn't let him in without the password…" Blaise stopped at the look on Harry's face. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Sirius Black was Harry's godfather," Colleen said quietly. "Do you… miss him?" she asked Harry a little awkwardly.

Harry nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"I'm sorry," said Blaise, looking uncomfortable. "I forgot. I did read about that in the _Prophet._ The ceremony and all."

"It's all right," Harry said in a distant voice. Ron handed him a Chocolate Frog. Absently, Harry opened it, pulled out the card, and looked at it. And looked again.

"What's wrong?" Neville asked.

"Nothing." Harry quickly slid the card back into the box and took a bite of frog.

"You got yourself, didn't you?" said Luna from behind her magazine.

"You've got a Chocolate Frog card?" Ron said in disbelief.

"Diddum wump wum!" Harry protested through his mouthful of chocolate, and swallowed. "Oh, here, go on, you'll see it eventually anyway…"

He pulled it out and handed it around. It was a picture of him flying against the Hungarian Horntail at the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, two years earlier.

"Good picture," Ginny said, watching the photographic Harry swoop and dive around the dragon. "You were pretty impressive, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling a little better.

He listened a lot the rest of the way to the castle, learning more about what it was like living in a less crowded magical house than the Weasleys' – Blaise was an only child, and Colleen had one sister, three years older than she was.

"She's out of Hogwarts now, obviously. She was a Ravenclaw, played Chaser for their Quidditch team, and she signed with the Ballycastle Bats straight out of school. Mum and Dad wanted her to become a Healer, but they had to settle for me," Colleen recalled. "I'm a bit of the black sheep of the family, they were flattened when I was sorted into Gryffindor – Dad accused Mum of cheating on him, and it was only half a joke. My family's been almost all Ravenclaws as far back as we're magical."

"How far's that?" asked Neville curiously.

"Two generations. Three of my grandparents were Muggleborn, the other one was a half-blood."

"And then there's me," Blaise said, with a curious mixture of pride and annoyance. "Some of the oldest wizarding blood in Europe runs in my veins… and none of it can make me any better thandecent at almost everything magical. I think that was when I realized a lot of the pureblood propaganda was rot – when I got to school, and I was no better than most of the Muggleborn students, and a lot worse than some of them. A _hell_ of a lot worse than you," he said to Hermione.

"Thanks," Hermione said. "I think."

Fred rapped on the compartment door. "You lot better get changed, we're almost there," he said through the glass. "They're calling all prefects to the front compartment."

Harry couldn't resist having a look at himself in the window, to see how the prefect badge looked on his black robes, and stifled a laugh as he remembered Ron doing the same last year. He, Ron, Hermione, and Blaise made their way to the front compartment, where David Masterson, looking rather hassled, was waiting.

"There you are," he said as they came in. "I think that's everyone – right, then, passwords. I want it clearly understood that these are not for casual use. You are not to tell anyone else another House's password, and you are not to enter another House's common room except in a case of urgent need. And you may have to justify 'urgent need' to me, Miss Chang, your Head of House, or the Headmaster, so don't take this lightly. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

"All right. Slytherins, your password is _Draco_."

Ron bit his lip hard and Hermione turned faintly pink as Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Gryffindors, _Titillandus_. Ravenclaws, _Nunquam_. Hufflepuffs, _Dormiens_."

Hermione had a bit of a coughing fit.

"Are you all right, Miss Granger?" Masterson asked, frowning.

"Fine – " Hermione coughed, her eyes starting to water. She wiped them and took a deep breath. "Just fine. Something caught in my throat."

"Good. We should be there in a moment or two, so spread out, help anyone who needs it, and I'll see you all at the Feast."

"What was that about?" Harry asked Hermione as they waited their turn at the door.

"The passwords – don't you know what they are?"

"No."

"Put them together. _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus._ Doesn't that sound even the least bit familiar, to either of you?"

"No," Harry said frankly. He waved to Blaise as the Slytherin left the compartment.

Ron's forehead was wrinkled with thought. "I've never heard it before, but I've… _seen_ it somewhere," he said slowly. "It's something to do with the school…"

Harry's brain triggered. "It's the school motto," he said. "On the Hogwarts crests, under the shield, isn't it?"

"That's it," Ron said, snapping his fingers. "I knew I'd seen it. What's it mean?"

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon," Hermione recited.

Ron snorted as they finally made it through the door. "Good advice. Dragons bite bloody hard."

Harry looked into a nearby compartment – it was filled with very nervous-looking first years who appeared to be glued to their seats. "Someone's going to need to help them," he said as the train started slowing down.

"Will you do it, Harry?" Hermione asked anxiously. "At least one of us should be down at the other end, in case Malfoy starts something…"

"All right. See you at the carriages."

"See you," Ron said, moving off.

Harry swallowed hard and pulled the door of the compartment open.

"Come on, everyone out," he said in what he hoped was a polite and cheerful tone.

All the first years stared at him. "Are you Harry Potter?" one of the girls said in a whisper.

"Yes, that's me," Harry confirmed. "Are you hungry?"

She nodded, her eyes never leaving him.

"Well, there's a start-of-term feast at the castle, but you have to get there first," Harry said. "And that means you have to get off the train."

A boy spoke up. "I heard we have to row in boats across a big lake with a giant cracking a whip," he said fearfully.

"I heard we have to wrestle a troll to find out what house we belong in!" said another boy.

"I heard the Potions Professor will lock you in a dungeon if you don't do your homework!"

"I heard – "

"I heard – "

"Hold on a second," Harry said loudly as the train stopped. "Let's get _off_ the train first, and then I'll tell you the truth. Leave your luggage here, they'll take care of it for you."

To his amazement, every single person in the compartment did what he said. They stood up, leaving their trunks behind, and followed him into the hallway. For a miracle, they beat most of the rush, and were actually the first group off the train.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" called the voice Harry had been waiting for.

"That's Hagrid," he said to the first years. "He's big, but he's not a giant, and he doesn't have a whip. He'll take you across the lake. You don't have to row, the boats move by themselves."

"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid called, catching sight of him.

"All right," Harry answered, waving. "Be right over." He turned back to the first years. "You do _not_ have to wrestle a troll – I remember someone told me that in my first year too, but it isn't true. And you don't want Professor Snape mad at you, but he doesn't lock people in dungeons. Not even if you have detention with him. Anything else you need to know?"

"Can I have your autograph?" said one boy in the front of the group.

Harry sighed. "Talk to me about it tomorrow."

"All right!"

"Come on, then," Harry said, and led them down the platform through the growing crowd to Hagrid. Dean Thomas shouted a greeting to him as he passed, and Colin and Dennis Creevey waved frantically to him through the windows of the train. "Here you go, Hagrid," he said as the first years filed past him. "All yours."

"See yeh at the feast!" Hagrid said, and gave him a pat on the back that almost knocked him over. Harry just grinned – he'd gotten used to it after five years of being friends with Hagrid – and joined the throng of students jostling toward the exit.

"Harry, over here!" Ginny's clear voice floated over the crowd noise as he emerged. He looked around and saw her waving at him from beside a carriage. He shuddered slightly as he saw the thestrals. _Creepy-looking things…_

"Thanks," he said, arriving at the carriage slightly breathless from all the shoving.

"I've got Hedwig, Harry," Neville said as Harry climbed in. "We're just waiting for Ron – "

"Here he comes," Ginny said. "Ron, Ron, here – oh no!"

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, but saw for himself as Ron came into his line of sight, panting – he had a slight trickle of blood from one nostril, and his robes were mussed.

"You've been fighting _already_?" Hermione said shrilly. "We're not even at the castle yet!"

"Malfoy," Ron said, wiping his face with the handkerchief Ginny handed him. "He almost shoved a couple of second years onto the tracks because they were _in his way_." He imitated Malfoy's drawl for the last few words. "Gryffindors, of course. I told him he was a great bullying git, and he told Crabbe to improve my looks. Goyle grabbed me from behind – I kicked him and got away before Crabbe actually hit me."

"How'd you get a bloody nose, then?" Harry asked curiously as the carriage started to move.

Ron colored. "Ran into a pillar," he said very quietly.

Neville coughed and looked down at his plant. Ginny snickered openly. Luna looked Ron up and down, then said matter-of-factly, "Well, there's no way the pillar could have run into _you._"

The reaction to this lasted almost all the way to the castle and completely destroyed any vestiges of a bad mood in Harry. He waved cheerily at Malfoy, who stared at him from the carriage behind his, released Hedwig so she could head for the Owlery, and climbed the castle steps still grinning. Spotting his trunk in the piles in the entrance hall, he left Hedwig's cage on top of it and headed for the Great Hall with the rest of the students.

The Great Hall looked much the same as ever: the ceiling was a uniform black, sprinkled liberally with stars, reflecting the still, clear night outside; the four long tables for the four Houses were set with golden plates and goblets, but still bare of food; the resident ghosts were hovering about, waving at favorite students (Nearly Headless Nick tipped his head to Harry as he passed); and the staff table was filled with teachers and guests.

Ron almost tripped over his own feet as he saw two of the guests. "What're _they_ doing up there?" he whispered urgently to Harry.

"Don't know… you'd think they'd sit with us. It's not like they were gone a long time – they were students last year."

"Isn't that Madame Fleming?" Hermione asked, nodding at the tall, brown-haired woman sitting beside Albus Dumbledore, on the other side from the vacant seat of Professor McGonagall, who was standing on the dais with the Sorting Hat and the list of first years in her hands.

"Yeah, that's her… and look who's next to Snape!" Harry hissed with glee.

Remus Lupin, wearing his usual pleasant expression, was making polite conversation with Professor Sprout, while Professor Snape glowered at his back.

"He's not teaching again, is he?" Ron asked.

"Don't know… you'd think he'd have told us if he was…"

"Wish he would," Ron said firmly. "Whoever we're going to have is probably going to be awful."

"Ron, don't say that," Hermione said with a sigh. "We don't even know who it is yet."

"Maybe that's why _she's_ here," Harry suggested, looking at Madame Fleming. "Maybe she's taken the job."

The doors opened. Hagrid led the usual line of white-faced first years up the aisle between tables. One of the girls Harry had talked to gave him a small smile as she passed. She was a pretty little thing, Harry noticed absently, with thick dark hair and big brown eyes…

Everyone's attention was riveted on the Sorting Hat as Professor McGonagall placed it on the stool. The rip near the brim opened – there was a pause –

"Hem, hem."

All the returning students, and most of the faculty, broke into hysterical laughter. The Hat had done the most perfect send-up of Dolores Umbridge anyone could imagine.

"It must have been talking to Peeves," Harry murmured to Ron and Hermione as the laughter died and the Hat began its song.

_I welcome you to Hogwarts,_

_You first-years young and new,_

_Now let me introduce myself_

_And tell you what I do._

_The Sorting Hat they call me,_

_And that name is quite sincere;_

_I'll tell you where you ought to live_

_While you're a student here._

_If you would dwell among the clouds_

_And study all day long,_

_Then I will shout out "Ravenclaw!" _

_For that's where you belong._

_If you're a strong determined sort_

_With both feet on the ground,_

_I'll send you straight to Hufflepuff_

_Where types like you abound._

_If deep and dark your thinking runs,_

_With clever plans sublime,_

_The noted house of Slytherin_

_Is where you'll spend your time._

_If you can face your fears alone_

_And never turn a hair,_

_Then you belong in Gryffindor,_

_And I will send you there._

_But now I must remind you _

_Of a thing that's oft forgot;_

_It is not always Slytherins_

_Who lay a cunning plot._

_It is not always Gryffindors_

_Who fight their awful fears,_

_And not alone are Ravenclaws_

_In wisdom for their years._

_The Hufflepuffs are not the only_

_Strong and loyal kind;_

_These Houses and their attributes _

_Are found in _every_ mind._

_I tell you only which of them_

_Is strongest within you;_

_The other three will someday_

_Come to be important too._

_So do not spurn the students who_

_Wear other colors bright;_

_The day may come when you will need_

_Their help against the night._

_And if you think the Sorting Hat_

_Has less sense than a crup,_

_To you I have one answer;_

_Come on down, and step right up!_

Under cover of the applause, Ron made a face. "If it's trying to tell me to get in touch with my inner Slytherin, I'm out of here."

Harry nodded, concealing his inner qualms. He had never told anyone, except Dumbledore, that the Hat had considered putting _him_ in Slytherin.

"Abrams, John!" Professor McGonagall read from her scroll. A thick-set boy came forward and sat down. She lowered the Hat onto his head – there was a pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry watched for his little group of first years. The boy who had asked for his autograph, "Kilewski, Brandon", had his eyes shut as the Hat descended onto his head. It took only a moment to shout "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry applauded with everyone else, but inwardly groaned. _Another member for my bloody fan club. Great._

The girl he had noticed was "Romano, Antonia", and it took the Hat a while to Sort her, but finally she was placed in "SLYTHERIN!"

_Have to get Blaise to keep an eye on her._

When "York, Patrick" had become a Hufflepuff, the Sorting Hat and stool had been removed, and Professor McGonagall had returned to her place at the high table, Professor Dumbledore rose, and the Hall quieted.

"Greetings, one and all, and a warm welcome to the start of a new school year. There are many things which must be discussed, new faces among us who must be introduced, new rules which must be explained – but all this can wait. The more important things of life are at hand – namely, an excellent dinner – and therefore any further remarks will be postponed until we are all satisfied."

"Which, in your case, would be never," Hermione said to Ron as the food appeared on the tables and the Hogwarts student body made a collective grab for it.

"Oh, lay off, Hermione. Just because I eat a lot – "

"You eat a lot? That's like saying Hogwarts is large – it's true, but it's not quite enough. How about, you eat enough to satisfy three normal people, you never pass up food when it's offered, and you can't even wait for cookies to cool off before you start making a pig of yourself?"

"So I eat too much, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

"Well, you read too much."

"I do not!"

"Oh, yes, you do. I've never seen you anywhere without a book. You even take a book to Quidditch matches – why? In case they get boring? In case we need to know the rules all of a sudden? Your library fines for your whole life could probably buy a house – "

Harry was about to intervene when he noticed that neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to be really angry. In fact, Hermione was holding her knife like a drumstick and tapping out a rhythm pattern on the table, something she only did when she was happy.

_I think I'll stay out of it._

He applied himself to his roast chicken and baked potato.

Ron and Hermione had moved on to one another's annoying quirks of speaking (Ron's swearing and Hermione's use of large words) by the time dessert was served. Harry helped himself to treacle tart and watched as Ron passed Hermione the butter pecan ice cream and Hermione pushed the chocolate pudding closer to Ron, both without being asked and without missing a beat in their ongoing…

_Well, call it a debate. Sounds better than argument. _

Even their debate, though, had to stop when Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again.

"Now that I have a chance of holding your attention for more than a few seconds, I would like to introduce the newest additions to our teaching staff for this school year. First, for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, may I introduce Professor Athena Fleming."

Professor Fleming rose and gave a small bow to the students, seating herself again amid polite applause.

"You were right, Harry!" Hermione whispered to him.

"They're going to let the witch who turned my sister into a cat _teach _us?" Ron said, looking aghast.

"She did apologize, Ron, don't be such a – "

"Secondly, for the new course in Practical Magic which many of our older students will be taking, may I introduce two people who need no introduction to most of you, though you have never had them as teachers before – Professors Fred and George Weasley, who will be team-teaching the course."

Ron's mouth fell open. Fred and George were taking extravagant bows from the end of the staff table. Harry looked down the table at Ginny and found her doubled over in her seat. Concerned, he looked closer, only to see that she was laughing so hard she couldn't sit up.

_That will be an interesting class._

"And lastly, the interdisciplinary course in Muggle defense. It is my privilege to announce that this course will also be team-taught, by Professor Fleming, Professor Snape, and a familiar face to many of you, a part-time addition to our staff this year, Professor Remus Lupin."

The fourth through seventh years, who had been taught by Remus during his previous professorship, went wild, screaming and pounding on the tables. A chant arose: "Lu-pin, Lu-pin, Lu-pin…" Remus had to take a second bow before everyone shut up. Snape's face was so puckered, it looked as if someone had tied an invisible string between his bottom lip and the middle of his eyebrows. Athena Fleming looked faintly amused, Professor McGonagall openly so.

"I would also like to announce that all items created or sold by the company known as Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, by order of Mr. Filch, have been banned from the hallways," Professor Dumbledore went on when order was finally, somewhat, restored. Fred and George made identical faces of annoyance. "And please do recall that the Forbidden Forest is – all together now – "

"Forbidden," the school chanted with their Headmaster.

"Quite good for the first day," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Notices about tryouts for House Quidditch teams will be posted within the week – questions, see Madam Hooch or your House team captain…"

Harry had begun to tune out when Ron poked him.

"What?"

Ron jerked his thumb at Dumbledore, who was just saying, "... or DA, dedicated to the learning and exercise of practical defense skills. Anyone with questions, contact the club's president, Harry Potter."

Harry put his forehead down on the table, not sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or just go to bed.

_I think go to bed is winning._

"…and to all, a good night," Dumbledore concluded, and sat down.

_Finally._

Ron scraped his pudding bowl clean and stood up amid the cacophony of the entire school doing the same thing. "Gryffindor first years, follow me!" he called. "This way to the Gryffindor dormitory!"

"Can I be a first year again?" Harry asked, waving at Remus and Hagrid as he left the Great Hall. "I think life was easier then."

"Well, if you really want to go through that whole bit with Quirrell and the Stone all over…" Hermione said with a laugh as she went past them. "Neville, wait a second – "

Neville stopped, looking alarmed.

"Don't worry, you didn't forget anything," Hermione said, pressing something into his hand. "I wrote down the password for you so you won't forget it."

"Thanks, Hermione! I'll see you later, I'm going to try and catch Professor Sprout before she goes to bed…"

"He'll see you later?" Ron demanded as Hermione rejoined them. "What does that mean?"

"It means we live in the same dormitory, Ronald, so there's not much chance that we _won't_ see each other," Hermione said, with a real snap in her voice this time.

"Not in front of the first years, you two," Harry said, trying to lighten things up. Both of them glared at him, and he realized it might not have been a good idea. They climbed five staircases in stony silence. By the sixth, Hermione had started to unbend a trifle, and by the seventh, Ron was smiling again, when he wasn't yawning.

"Oh, hello, everyone!" said the Fat Lady as they reached her portrait. "Harry Potter, my goodness, have you grown?"

"Maybe," Harry yawned. "_Titillandus._"

The portrait swung open, and Harry heard a few gasps as the round hole in the wall was revealed. He and Ron stood one on either side of it and gave two or three of the first years boosts. Brandon Kilewski climbed through on his own, but not before giving Harry a glance of pure hero-worship (something he recognized after being around Dobby and the Creevey brothers for four years). Finally, Hermione clambered in, Ron behind her, and Harry last of all.

_It's good to be back._

That was Harry's last truly coherent thought, as he climbed the stairs, changed into his pajamas, and almost literally fell into bed in a fog of tiredness. He half-heard Ron start snoring beside him, but his eyes were already mostly closed at that point…

-----

"It's good to be back," Erica said, taking off her backpack as Harry put her laundry hamper on the floor of her room. "Not that I don't love my family, but I guess the best way to put it is that they're like a disease. When I live at home, I build up immunity to them, so I can handle all the screaming and the fighting and the table manners, or lack thereof. But when I live here most of the time, and just go home on weekends…"

"It really gets to you, doesn't it?" Ginny said, handing Erica her overnight bag.

"Oh, you have no idea." Erica sat down at her computer. "So, how were auditions?"

"Nerve-wracking," Ginny said. "The list is supposed to go up today, this afternoon, but I don't know when…"

"And you're not at the Cashbox waiting? What kind of theatre geek are you, anyway?" Erica demanded, only half-jokingly. "Come on, I tried out Friday before I left. We'll go check the list together. And if it's not up, we'll sit around and wait until it is. Trust me, we won't be alone."

------

Fortunately for Ginny's nerves (and Harry's), the list was up. The crowd around the call board in the theatre arts building, called the Cashbox for its resemblance to a bank, proved that.

"'Scuse us," Erica said, and the throng parted somewhat, enough to let Harry in.

_Why is it always me?_

He ran his finger up the list, and was rewarded halfway there with a familiar name.

_Me? I made it?_

"_Fabian". I remember him – kind of a bit part, he just hangs out with the drunk and the idiot – but I made it! I'm in the show!_

He kept looking up, and was rewarded with two other names he knew.

_Ginny's Maria! Oh, that'll be good – she loves comedy, and that's a really funny part – and I don't believe it – Erica got Viola! She finally beat out Mercy Lowdale!_

That lady had been cast as Olivia, the countess who falls in love with Viola's manly disguise, and Harry couldn't keep from smiling at the thought of the two girls, who cordially hated one another, going through the scenes where Olivia tries to seduce "Cesario".

_This should be fun._

"Congratulations, ladies," he said when he made it out of the crowd again.

"We're in?" Ginny squealed. "We made it?"

"We made it," Harry confirmed as Erica, grinning, infiltrated the crowd to see what part she had gotten. "I'm Fabian, you're Maria."

"Maria?" said Robertson, who was leaning against the wall. "Come and kiss me, wench, I'm Sir Toby Belch, your future husband."

"Not until I have to," Ginny said, making a face. "And no onions at least an hour before the show, Robertson, your breath's bad enough without them."

"I'm hurt," Robertson began, but was interrupted by Erica's shriek of delight. "Viola, eh? Good for her."

Ginny twirled around once, laughing, then threw her arms around Harry. "Thank you so much for trying out with me! I love you!"

"Ah, ah, ah, PDA," Robertson said, wagging his finger.

Harry thumbed his nose at his guitar teacher and kissed Ginny.

"You taste like treacle tart," she whispered in his ear when they pulled away.

-----

(A/N: I know that in canon, the Slytherin boy who can see thestrals is Theodore Nott. (NOW I know that! Grr JKR for updating her website three freaking days after I posted the last chapter!) So this story is now a little bit AU. Sigh.

OK, this update was sooner than the last one, but not by much. I know, I know, I used to update twice weekly, and now look at me… a poor, broken, once in two weeks kind of writer…

I'll really try, all right? Remember, more reviews mean sooner updates!

MAndrews: Hope this finds you better… and were you cut off, or did you mean to end there?

MackenzieW: Oh Lord, don't get me started on no-good partners for group projects!

Lady Cinnibar: Thank you, and yes, he is.

emikae: I hope she does, it will really add to the "we all need to work together" message. My mother is also a fan of possible good Slytherins in HBP.

blueJosh: Thanks for clarifying!

Tigoamy: I love Carrington too… and I miss it now that I'm home… sniffle… If you want more info about it, just e-mail me, I've got TONS! About the Map, I just figured, how else could it insult Snape so very, VERY well?

marathonerobsessed: Thanks, sweet thing!

harryp123: I'll get to that, I promise!

CherryPit8: Thanks, great to have you!

Thanks to everyone! Will _try_ to see you again soon!)


	21. I'm Sorry?

Chapter 21: I'm Sorry?

Harry woke up early the next morning, still feeling a pleasant buzz from the party 1st Gardner Hall had held to celebrate its theatrical triumph – four people who lived there all getting into the show was worth celebrating, Lizzie said, and proceeded to make three batches of her famous killer cupcakes.

These were chocolate cupcakes, with chocolate chips and chocolate fudge laced in, topped with a honey mocha frosting, and they were enormous. Harry had eaten two and a half of them before being unable to finish – Ginny had taken care of the spare half for him. Ron, to everyone's astonishment, had eaten five. "It'll be fun sleeping in the same room with you, tonight," Harry had said.

"I'll swap you roommates," Hermione had said absently, frowning at Ginny, who was finishing her second Mountain Dew, a drink Lanie had introduced her to, which contained large quantities of caffeine.

The reaction to that statement came back to Harry and made him smile.

_Since I'm up, might as well update my account._

He fumbled in his trunk until he came up with the Map, settled in on his bed, and placed his wand in the center. "I solemnly say that I am up to no good."

The Map activated.

_**Messrs. and Madames Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, Vulpes, Reynard, Ashcoat, Redwing, Aldima, and Flamepaws present**_

_**The Marauders' Map**_

_**Personal Edition**_

_**Welcome, Mr. Ashcoat.**_

_**Would you like to:**_

_**A) Read over old content**_

_**B) Input new content**_

**_C) Meet yourself_**

"Meet myself?"

Padfoot's writing appeared below the options. **-Your personality's gone active, Ashcoat. Or, rather, Harry – he's probably going to want to call himself Ashcoat. You may want to talk to him – he's got some interesting things to say.-**

"All right," Harry said dubiously. _I've been talking to memories of my father and godfather for two weeks. How bad can talking to myself be?_

**;You sound so enthusiastic,;** the Map wrote. In Harry's own handwriting. **;Hello, I'm Mr. Ashcoat.;**

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. _Wonderful. My personality is sarcastic._ "Nice to meet you. I'm Harry. I'm just, er, nervous, I guess. Classes start today, you know."

**;Yes, I know. I also know you forgot to do something over the summer. Remus told you to write a letter apologizing to Snape – ;**

**(_Professor_ Snape,)** Moony's writing broke in.

**;Yes, him. You never did.;**

Harry sighed. "I know. It's just, well… how am I supposed to apologize for something I'm not sorry for? I mean, I know it was wrong, and I wish – I really wish – I'd never done it, but how do I say I'm sorry when I'm not?"

**:I don't think you ever actually have to say you're sorry. Why don't you write down what you just said? About knowing it was wrong, and wishing you'd never done it?:**

**(And then tell him why. Harry, since Remus has been updating lately, I have quite a long perspective on Severus Snape, and one thing no one has ever accused him of is being stupid. Bigoted, yes. Occasionally blinded by his own grudges, yes. But stupid, no. If you tell him the truth, he may not want to hear it, but he will.)**

"But there's no guarantee he'll like it," Harry said, speaking from experience. "And he might try to get back at me somehow. Like he did at Remus, third year, telling the Slytherins he was a werewolf."

**-Do you have any secrets like that he could use against you?-**

Harry drummed his fingers on the Map, thinking. "I don't think so."

**;Well, that depends on how much he knows.;**

Harry stared at the statement. "Do you know something I don't?"

**;Possibly. Harry, we think alike – obviously, since I _am_ you, more or less – but I have more time to think, and less on my mind. I think I've figured out a couple of things that you may not know yet.;**

**:This is what the Map is excellent for,: **Prongs wrote. **:If you have a problem that's bothering you, record it – get it off your mind – and let your other mind chew it over for a while. We'll leave you two alone.:**

"Thanks," Harry said as the writing of the three original Marauders faded from the Map's surface. "So, what are my big secrets?"

**;And you think I'm sarcastic. This is nothing you wouldn't eventually have figured out on your own, Harry, but there's something odd about these dreams you've been having, and if you resume Occlumency with Snape, he is going to find out about them. So you need to have them figured out before that happens.;**

"So what's odd about them?"

**;Well, I think I see some kind of pattern in them, but I'm not sure yet.;**

"Pattern?"

**;As I said, I'm not sure. Ask me again in a week or two.;**

"All right. Anything else?"

**;Actually, yes.;** The writing shrank somewhat, as if Ashcoat were whispering. **;You are alone, right?;**

Harry parted his bedcurtains and looked around the room. No one else appeared to have stirred. "Yeah, I'm alone."

**;All right. Just remember, don't kill the messenger.;** Ashcoat paused, probably for dramatic effect. **;Harry, you like Ginny Weasley.;**

Harry looked at the words stupidly for a moment. "I'm sorry?"

**;You fancy Ginny Weasley. You want her to be your girlfriend. You want to kiss her. You want to pull her into a broom closet and – ;**

"All right, I get it!"

"Hmmm?" Ron said sleepily from the next bed over.

**;I thought you said you were alone.;**

"I am alone. Everyone else is asleep. Or they were." Harry sighed and lowered his voice. "All right. So I like Ginny Weasley. Is that a crime?"

**;No, but it is something that someone could use against you. If they knew about it. And it would be even easier to use against you if you _didn't_ know. So, now you know.;**

"Yes, now I know." Harry closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think. To his annoyance, pictures of Ginny kept intruding. Ginny asleep, her hair fanned out behind her… Ginny in dark blue dress robes, smiling at him with no trace of pity… Ginny cheering him on from the sidelines on his birthday… Ginny on her broomstick, an artist in the air… he found himself wishing he'd been there at the Quidditch Cup final the year before, to see her get the Snitch from under Cho's nose…

Harry sighed and opened his eyes. "All right, you win. You're right. I guess I do like her."

**:Of course he's right,:** Prongs wrote. **:He's my son.:**

"So what do I do now?"

**(I'd say, don't push it yet. Keep being her friend.)**

**-You were always too old for your age, Moony. Harry, get her alone and snog her senseless. What I'm not allowed to tell you about what she's been writing would fill at least one book. Possibly two.- **

"Thanks, Padfoot," Harry said, smiling a little. _And that's probably exactly what Sirius would have told me… he never did really grow up._

_He never had a chance._

Harry winced at the thought. "I'm going to go have some breakfast," he said. "See you later."

**;Don't put it off too long.;**

"Now you sound like Hermione."

**;Ouch.;**

Harry smiled. "Get over it. Mischief managed."

"Harry?" Ron said. "Who're you talking to?"

Harry opened his bedcurtains and held up the Map.

"Oh." Ron yawned. "Can I have a go?"

"Sure, I'm done. See you at breakfast?"

"All right." Ron accepted the Map from Harry and pulled his own bedcurtains shut again. Faintly, Harry heard him say, "I solemnly swear that I am up to nothing good."

-----

It was still quite early, so the Hall was something less than crowded when Harry walked through the door. Blaise was sitting by himself at the end of the Slytherin table, staring at his eggs. On a whim, Harry sat down across from him. "Good morning," he said.

Blaise jumped. "Morning."

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, frowning. Blaise looked… tired, he supposed. Or was it something more than tiredness?

"I'm fine." Blaise leaned forward on his elbows, trying to look casual, but his eyes flickered down the table, to where Draco Malfoy sat, holding his usual court. "Malfoy's a bastard, but I'm fine."

"What happened?"

Blaise sighed. "Nothing I can't handle. Don't worry."

"All right," Harry said unwillingly. "But if you ever need anything…"

"Seventh floor, I know." Blaise smiled slightly. "See you in class."

Harry got up and headed for the Gryffindor table. To his surprise, Fred Weasley was sitting there, with a book in his right hand and a fork in his left.

"Thought you were sitting with the teachers now," Harry said as he sat down.

"Only on special occasions," Fred said through a mouthful of sausage, putting down his book. "Makes me nervous, being up there."

"So how exactly are you and George going to manage being professors and running the shop at the same time?" Harry asked, serving himself porridge.

"Why do you think we got married?" Fred grinned. "Angelina and Alicia are at the shop with Lee. Once Katie leaves school and marries Lee, we'll never need to hire another employee."

"That's handy," Harry said. "Not to mention cheap."

"Cheap, my young student, is just another word for 'more profits'," Fred said in a lordly tone. "Oh, here."

He reached into the bag sitting on the floor beside him and pulled out a handful of schedules. "This one's yours, but I could just as well give you Ron's. You're in every class together. And Hermione's only got one that you don't. Do you ever do anything apart?"

"Why bother?" Harry asked, perusing his schedule. "It's more fun together." He had an hour of Charms that morning, followed by an hour's break, and then Defense Against the Dark Arts. After that – "Oh, not again," Harry moaned. He had two hours of Potions right after lunch, and the Muggle defense course an hour after that.

"Cheer up," Fred said, looking over his shoulder. "You can forget about whatever goes wrong in Potions while you're beating people up in Muggle Defense."

Wednesdays looked similar to Mondays, except that Charms was doubled and Potions single, and on Fridays, the double class was Defense. Four hours a week of everything, except – "That's odd."

"What?"

"The Muggle Defense course. It's two hours, three days a week. That's more than anything else."

"It's making up for our course," Fred said with a grin. "We insisted on keeping it to two hours a week instead of four. We said since there were two of us, we could teach twice as fast."

Harry laughed as Hermione came breezing into the Hall, spotted them, and came over. "Morning, Fred. Hello, Harry, how did you sleep?"

"Fine." Harry went back to reading his schedule as Fred gave Hermione hers. Tuesdays and Thursdays were exactly the same, beginning with an hour of Practical Magic – _starting the day with Fred and George. That should be fun _– moving on to Care of Magical Creatures, then lunch, and then Herbology and Transfiguration, with an hour's break in between.

"There's almost no short classes on here," Harry said, scanning the schedule in its entirety.

"They figure by this time, you're old enough to handle two hours of something at a time," Fred said. "Don't worry too much, though. Most teachers give a break around the one-hour mark, because they know if they don't, no one pays attention any longer."

"It doesn't say who we have the classes with," Hermione said, looking at her schedule with puzzlement.

"That's because you don't take classes by House any more," Fred pointed out. "You chose all your new ones based on your O.W.L. results, remember? So everyone's got a different schedule."

Harry sighed. "Damn – that means Malfoy could be in any of these, and there's no way to tell until we actually get there."

"He's in Practical Magic," Fred said with a grin. "He signed up for an easy pass – before he knew who was teaching, obviously. We plan to give him a _very_ good grade for class participation. Voluntary or otherwise."

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing.

-----

After Charms, which was much the same as it had always been – Flitwick was both a good and a popular teacher, so quite a lot of people had passed that O.W.L. and wanted to continue in the class – Harry went back to the Gryffindor dormitory, found parchment, ink, and quill, and started composing his letter to Snape.

He got hung up on the first word.

_No way am I starting this "Dear Professor."_

He finally found an alternative.

_**Professor Snape:**_

_**I'm writing because I want to apologize for intruding on your Pensieve last year. It was very wrong of me, and I wish I'd never done it.**_

Harry chewed on the end of his quill thoughtfully.

_So much for the easy part._

He dipped his quill again and doodled on a scrap of parchment while he thought about what he wanted to say next.

_**I understand that you probably don't want to teach me any more, but I need to learn Occlumency, and you are the best person for me to learn from.**_

Harry gritted his teeth and went on.

_**Please take me back as a student. I am…**_

He lifted his quill so as not to leave a blot of ink, took a deep breath, and finished the sentence.

**…_sorry I invaded your privacy, and I promise never to do so again._**

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Harry Potter**_

He shook his head to get rid of the lingering feeling that he'd just done something dishonest, folded the letter, and activated the Marauders' Map the usual way, looking for Remus.

The Map showed him in a small office on the second floor. Harry stuck it in his bag and hurried out the portrait hole, aware that he only had twenty minutes left before Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the worst thing he could do on his first day with a new teacher was to be late.

He arrived at the office five minutes later and knocked. "Come in," Remus' voice called, and Harry pushed the door open. "Ah, Harry. I was meaning to see you at some point today."

"Can you look at something for me?" Harry asked, holding out the letter.

"Certainly." Remus accepted it, opened it, and looked curiously at the superscription. "I see." He read through the letter and handed it back. "Yes, I think that will do. As long as you mean what you say." He looked Harry in the eye. "Do you?"

Harry squirmed. "I'm not sure. I mean, I wish I'd never seen that – my dad being a total ass that way – but… well, it's better for me to know than not to. Not knowing things is what led to the Department of Mysteries."

Remus nodded soberly. "I understand. That is, I may understand," he corrected himself. "I remember some of what it was like to be sixteen – at that age, I was firmly convinced that no adult could possibly understand me."

Harry smiled ruefully, recognizing a feeling he'd often had himself. "You do understand," he assured Remus. "At least, that part of it."

"My only recommendation about the letter is that you may wish to add a postscript to the effect that you have told no one about what you saw, and that you will tell no one – assuming that's true."

Harry nodded and used Remus' quill to add a line to the bottom of the letter.

_**P.S. I have not told anyone what I saw, and I will not tell anyone.**_

"One more thing before you go," Remus said. "Despite my dislike of the title, it would be better if you called me Professor, outside this office. It will stave off accusations of favoritism."

"All right – Professor," Harry said, opening the door. "I'd better go, or I'll be late for Defense…"

"Oh, yes, Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Don't cross Professor Fleming if you can help it," Remus said. "She does not suffer fools gladly."

"You would know," Harry said, and ducked out the door as Remus pretended to throw a quill at him.

-----

(A/N: So, it's a short chapter. There will be another one soon – and I do mean soon, as in within the next few days. I just figured everyone had waited long enough.

emikae: Can I take the Fifth on this?

blueJosh: Except coming back to reviews!

MAndrews: Good.

CherryPit8: Thanks!

harryp123: One new one up, watch for more soon!

marathonerobsessed: Love ya Lanie.

MackenzieW: Grades are fun. Sometimes.

Lady Cinnibar: If you're taking forever to notice, I hate to think how many forevers I'm taking to update…

Arrows' Biggest Fan: Thanks a lot – hope you get here eventually!

Tanydwr: The answer to that will be coming up fairly shortly… and I will, I will, but I'm blocked at the moment!

Ariatina McAlpin: Is that a smile or what?

Zuzuanni: Soon, soon, I'll get it written soon!

See you before the end of the week – promise!)


	22. Of Detentions and Dreams

Chapter 22: Of Detentions and Dreams

Harry skidded to a halt outside the Defense classroom and took a deep breath, so it wouldn't be apparent he'd been running. He checked his watch. _Good, I'm in time._

He opened the door. Ron waved at him from the middle of the classroom, where he was sitting one desk away from Hermione. "Saved you a seat," he said as Harry took it.

"Look at this place," Hermione whispered. "It's almost all DA."

Taking a look around, Harry realized she was right. There were only two or three people in the room he didn't know. Susan Bones winked at him, and Ernie Macmillan gave him a dignified wave.

"Where's Blaise?" Hermione asked, frowning. "He's taking this class, isn't he?"

"I can find out," Harry said, remembering what he had in his bag. He pulled out the Map and spread it out on his desk.

The dot labeled "Blaise Zabini" was in the hospital wing.

_What's he doing there?_

The door opened again. Everyone looked around.

Professor Fleming had arrived, her brown hair pulled back in a neat twist, her sapphire-blue robes precisely perfect. Without preamble, she walked to the front of the classroom, pulled a scroll from her bag, and began to take roll. As she got to "Granger, Hermione", Harry glanced down at the Map again. Blaise had left the hospital wing, but there was no way he was going to get to the classroom in time…

"Potter, Harry."

Ron elbowed him. "What?" Harry said. "Oh. Here." He quickly folded up the Map and put it away, feeling Professor Fleming's eyes dissecting him again, as they had done in the kitchen at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

_I don't think she likes me._

"Weasley, Ronald."

"Here."

"Zabini, Blaise."

"He had to go to the hospital wing, Professor," Harry said quickly. "He asked me to tell you he'd be a bit late."

Professor Fleming's eyebrows rose. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor for your considerate behavior toward a fellow student."

On cue, the door opened, and Blaise hurried in, looking a bit flushed. "Sorry I'm late, Professor," he began.

"Late, but not tardy, Mr. Zabini," Professor Fleming said with what sounded like approval. "Five points to Slytherin for your forethought in sending a message with Mr. Potter."

Blaise looked surprised for a fleeting second, then said, "Thank you, Professor," and looked around for a seat. Hermione waved at him and pointed to the desk next to hers, which was one of the only ones free, and after a brief hesitation, he took it, pulling out parchment, ink, and a quill.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Professor Fleming addressed the class, "what you have just seen is an example of courtesy. Courtesy is the first rule in my classroom. I will be courteous towards you, and I expect you to be courteous towards me and towards the rest of the class. Your differences, however important outside this classroom, are to be set aside. You will work with whomever I set you to work with on group projects, and you will duel with whomever I choose for you to duel with."

"We get to duel?" Anthony Goldstein blurted, looking excited. "Really duel?"

"Yes, Mr.… Goldstein?" Anthony nodded. "Yes, you will get to 'really duel' in this class. Only – " Fleming held up a warning hand. "Only within the established parameters. You will begin and end the duel when I say so. You will leave all personal feelings about the person you are facing outside the ring. And you will restrict yourselves to the spells I select, no matter which other ones you may know. I wish to avoid accidents in this class which might be prevented with a touch of forethought. Here are the rules for this class – please copy them down and study them at your convenience…"

A wave of her wand and the blackboard was filled. Harry uncapped his ink bottle and dipped his quill. Hermione poked him in the elbow, almost making him spill the ink.

"What?"

She handed him a folded square of parchment and pointed her thumb at Blaise. Harry unfolded it.

_I never sent any message. What is she talking about?_

Harry scribbled an answer underneath.

_I spotted you in hospital and told her you'd be late. No reason for you to get in trouble if you don't have to._

He slid the note to Hermione. A moment later, it returned.

_Thanks, _Blaise had written.

"A note about our schedule," Professor Fleming said. "On Mondays and Wednesdays, we meet for an hour. These days will be devoted to theoretical lecture and discussion. I will assign reading and writing assignments, which I expect to be completed by the next class. Fridays, which are two-hour classes, will be practical days. You will not need to bring your books. Now, if you would all get out your writing materials, we can begin…"

Professor Fleming gave them an hour's lecture on Memory Charms, when it was and was not legally and ethically permissible to use them. "For Wednesday," she said over the noise of the class packing up after the bell rang, "please read the chapter in your books covering the theory of Memory Charms and be ready to discuss it in class."

"I can't believe it," Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they headed for the Great Hall. "A good teacher. We actually have a good Defense teacher."

"Anything would seem good after Umbridge," Hermione pointed out. "But she does seem to know what she's talking about."

"D'you think we're going to practice Memory Charms on each other?" Ron asked.

"Probably on animals," Hermione said. "See if you can make mice forget where their cheese is or something."

"Can I sit with you?" said a quiet voice from next to Harry. He turned and found himself facing Colleen Lamb.

"Of course," Hermione said before Harry or Ron could say anything. "How was your morning?"

"Fine, how was yours?"

"Defense was pretty good," Ron said, sitting down and reaching for the chips. "Fleming's better than Umbridge any road. Better than Lockhart or Quirrell too."

"I wouldn't eat those if I were you," Colleen said, serving herself a baked potato.

"Why not?"

"We have Potions after lunch. Professor Snape and fried food don't go well together."

"You have a point," Harry said, relieving her of the dish of baked potatoes and dumping one onto Ron's plate before he served himself. "Professor Snape and anything doesn't go well together."

He remembered suddenly the letter, sitting in his bag, which he would have to give to Snape before class started. And there was something else in his bag, something he might have forgotten to turn off…

He unfolded the Map just long enough to see that it was, indeed, still active, tapped it and muttered "Mischief managed", and sighed with relief as it went blank. The last thing he needed was to go rummaging for an extra quill or something and have the Map fall out in front of Snape. He'd never see it again.

When lunch was over, the four Gryffindors made their way down to the dungeons. Draco Malfoy was already there, with Theodore Nott as his partner, talking in low tones. They whipped around, looking half-affronted, half-amused, as Harry came through the door.

"Well, well," Malfoy said, in a tone meant to be overheard. "Potty, the Weasel King, the Mudblood, and the Slytherin wannabe. The gang's all here."

"Look, everyone," Harry said in return, pointing at Malfoy as if he were a tourist attraction. "It's the Boy with No Creativity! How many years has he been calling us that stuff now, Ron? Four, five?"

"Well, he did just come up with Weasel _King_ last year," Ron allowed, "but he can't seem to get over my last name sounding like a little skinny animal and yours sounding like a baby word for a toilet."

"Isn't a ferret a little skinny animal too, Ron?" Colleen asked quietly.

"That's right," Ron said, snapping his fingers. "Thanks, Colleen."

"And he's never recovered from finding out I'm a Muggleborn," Hermione said. "I think he had a crush on me and was devastated when he found out his father would never approve."

Harry and Ron shook their heads sadly. Colleen sighed, looking pityingly at Malfoy, whose face was almost as pink as it had been the day the false Moody had bounced him around the entrance hall as a ferret.

"And, of course," Colleen finished, "he can't understand that a Slytherin and a Gryffindor can like each other – maybe even be friends – and still be a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. He's stuck in the past, poor boy."

Nott grabbed Malfoy's arm as Malfoy started to get up and hissed something in his ear. Malfoy slumped back into his seat, looking sulky, as more students started coming into the classroom. Harry and Ron chose a table together, Hermione and Colleen across the aisle from them, and avoided looking at one another while they set up their cauldrons. Harry had a very strong feeling that if any of them met each other's eyes at this point, they would be unable to stop laughing, and that would be very bad for everyone involved.

With one minute left before class was supposed to begin, Harry remembered the letter. Quickly, he pulled it from his bag, put it on Snape's desk, and turned to go back to his place.

The door opened.

"Detention, Potter," Snape said icily.

"Sir?" Harry said in disbelief.

"Rummaging through a teacher's desk when that teacher is not present is certainly a punishable offense. I will see you for detention tomorrow night at seven."

Harry bit his lip hard, remembering that he had just finished writing a letter apologizing to Snape, and that he would not do his credibility any good by blowing up at the man in their first meeting of the school year.

"He was not _rummaging_ in your desk," Ron said in disgust. "He was just putting something on it."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and I can make it detention for two if you like," Snape said, closing the door behind him. Ron went pink and said nothing.

"Welcome to N.E.W.T. level Potions," Snape went on, managing to make the word "welcome" sound as if it tasted bitter. "I will never understand how some of you achieved the necessary grades to be admitted to this class, but here you are, and I will teach you. Whether or not you learn is up to you. I suggest you all put your cauldrons away, as today's class will be lecture only."

Ron stifled a groan. Harry knew exactly how he felt. Lecture only, and a double period, spelled pain – and for the lecturer to be Snape was beyond all reasonable bounds, in Harry's opinion.

Snape waved his wand at the board, which was immediately covered in writing. "We will now discuss the theory of potion-making, beginning with a brief overview of its history and concluding with a comparative look at the different potion-brewing techniques used today the world over…"

By the time three o'clock came, Harry felt as if his brain was ready to explode. He'd had to elbow Ron twice as he noticed him falling asleep, and Ron had performed the same service for him once. The only good thing about the class was that Snape hadn't picked on him – he seemed, after his initial speech, to have adopted the viewpoint that Harry didn't exist. Harry was used to this, from the Dursleys, and far preferred it to Snape's usual outlook, which was that Harry was something smelly clinging to the bottom of Snape's shoe.

"Let's go outside," Ron said wearily. "Blimey, if he's going to lecture like that every Monday I might just give up the class, Auror or not. At least we have an hour off now."

"_You_ have an hour off," Hermione said tartly. "I have to go to Arithmancy. I'll see you in Muggle Defense."

"Bye," Harry said to her back. He and Ron made their way outside into the sunshine and found a place to sit. Ron lay back on the grass, flung a forearm over his eyes, and promptly went to sleep.

Harry looked around, thinking of nothing in particular. Some Hufflepuff third-year girls went by, giggling as they looked at him and Ron. He wondered vaguely why, but it wasn't all that interesting. What was interesting was how warm the sun was, and how soft the grass was… maybe Ron had the right idea after all…

-----

"So what was your old school like?" Erica asked over dinner.

"Ah… hard to describe," Harry said, biting into his hamburger. "Big. Not the students, there weren't so many of them, but the building. It was huge, and so hard to get around in – you'd swear it changed day by day, like the staircases and the rooms moved or something."

"It was a boarding school," Ron put in. "Not many of those in America, are there?"

"Not around here," Erica said. "I certainly didn't go to one."

"We had nice dormitories," Harry recalled, "kind of hidden so you couldn't find them unless you knew where to look. It wasn't exactly a secret where they were, but you weren't supposed to go telling people."

"The food was good," Ron said through a mouthful of chips, or fries as Harry had learned Americans called them. "Not that it isn't here."

"It isn't," Erica said bluntly. "Trust me, it isn't. I'll have to bring you boys home with me some weekend, you can try my dad's cooking. He's good. Speaking of boys, where are the girls? I thought they were meeting us here."

"Probably got held up in some meeting or other," Ron said. "Hermione's joined so many clubs she's never home."

"Get used to it," Erica said. "Harry and Ginny will never be home either. Not with the play about to take off. Oh, Harry, just to warn you, Professor Williams, the director, she'll probably want you and Ginny to be accent coaches."

"Accent coaches?" Ron asked.

"She feels Shakespeare goes over better if everyone has a British accent," Erica said, shrugging.

"I don't mind if Ginny doesn't," Harry said, taking another bite of hamburger.

"And while we're on the subject, Harry, don't forget read-through is tomorrow. It's at 7 at the Cashbox."

"Seven?" Harry felt odd. "I… I don't think I can make it. I have somewhere I have to be at seven…"

_No, you don't_, part of his mind objected. _Read-through _is_ where you have to be at seven._

_But I have detention, _another part insisted. _I got detention in my last class, from… oh, what's his name? The nasty fellow…_

Fran breezed into Garritty's, saw them in their booth, and came over. "And how are we this fine afternoon?" she said teasingly.

"_We _are just fine," Erica responded, extending a fry towards Fran, who bit the ketchupy end off it and giggled. "What were you saying, Harry?"

Suddenly, Harry remembered. "Fran, can we reschedule that study session we had on for tomorrow? Erica's just reminded me about read-through at seven."

"Of course," Fran said, taking off her light green jacket and hanging it over Ginny's red one on the hook on the side of the booth. "Day after tomorrow OK?"

"Do we have rehearsal then?" Harry asked Erica.

"You probably won't, your part's fairly small. I may, Ginny might, but you should be all right."

"That's fine," Harry said. "After choir, of course."

"Of course." Fran took her ID card from the pocket of her coat and headed for the food lines.

Suddenly, Erica grabbed Harry by the shoulder and shook him. "Wake up, Harry," she said – with a perfect British accent.

"That's really good," Harry said. "But why are you telling me to wake up?"

"Because we're going to be late," she said, still shaking him. Harry was struck by how much her voice sounded like Hermione's…

-----

"Come on, Harry, wake up," Hermione said in annoyance. "Honestly, anyone would think you hadn't slept all night."

"I had a rough day," Harry yawned, sitting up. "What time is it?"

"3:53. Come on, we'll be late for Muggle Defense. Help me wake Ron."

Ron's eyes popped open as soon as Hermione shook him once. He stared at Harry. "That was the weirdest dream ever," he said as he stood up. "You disappeared right in front of my eyes – I thought you'd learned to Apparate or something!"

"You were dreaming about me?" Harry asked. "Where were we?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Somewhere with a table and benches. You were across from me. And there was somebody else there, some girl or other…"

"You're dreaming about girls?" Hermione asked a trifle shrilly.

_And they're off, ladies and gentlemen…_ Harry sighed and fell back a step to let Ron and Hermione go at it.

Muggle Defense was held in a classroom Harry had never been in before, on the third floor of the castle. The room was huge, its floor was wooden, and two of its walls were mirrored. Harry wondered what it had been used for before this class was inaugurated.

Professor Fleming was standing against the back wall, now dressed in what looked like a sweatsuit, her hair in a severe bun, watching the two men who were facing one another in the middle of the floor. Both of them wore padded shirts, soft leather boots and gloves, and masks which covered their faces entirely, making it impossible to tell who they were. However, more of the students' attention was fixed on the swords in their hands, with which they were alternately striking and blocking.

"Those are epees," Hermione whispered to the boys. "Fencing swords. The points are blunted – in Muggle classes, they put a thing called a button on it, but here they've probably done it by magic – ah, there, see?"

One of the men had lunged at his opponent, penetrated his guard, and touched him on the vest with the point of the sword. A buzzing noise filled the room. "Hit!" Professor Fleming called, lifting her right hand, and both men lowered their swords. "Point. 4-3. On guard." Both swords snapped up. "Play."

The fighting this time was furious, but the same man who had scored a point the last time finally touched his opponent again, this time on the arm. "Hit," Professor Fleming declared, again raising her right hand. "Five points. Bout to Remus Lupin. Shake hands, gentlemen, well played."

The students broke into applause as Remus removed his mask. "I didn't know he fenced!" Hermione whispered. "He's good!"

"Wonder who the other bloke is?" Ron asked as the fencers shook hands.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Who else is teaching this class, Ron?"

"Not…" Ron trailed off as the other fencer pulled off his mask, revealing the unmistakable features of Severus Snape. "Oh no. We get him for _four hours_ on Mondays? That's not fair."

"Life is not fair, Mr. Weasley," Snape said loudly. Ron flushed. "Mr. Potter, a reminder. Tomorrow night at seven o'clock, my office. I will be expecting you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying not to grit his teeth.

"Shall we start, then?" Remus suggested mildly. Fleming nodded, and Snape merely stalked over to the wall and leaned against it, arms crossed.

"Welcome to the newest course at Hogwarts, Muggle Defense," Remus said as he took off his fencing jacket, revealing that he was wearing an old T-shirt underneath it. "In this class, you will learn some basic skills of self-defense. If you signed up to get an easy pass, I suggest you leave now. There will be work, hard work, involved here. There is, after all, a war going on, and I'm sure all of you would like to survive. If you pay attention and do as you're told, the chances of that may increase." He nodded to Fleming.

"Changing rooms are through the doors behind you," she said, taking over and pointing them out. "Ladies to the right, gentlemen to the left. You will find a shelf with your name on it and a uniform in your size. These are the clothes you will wear in this class. Leave them on your shelf at the end of class to be cleaned. If I see anyone wearing them outside of class time, you will have me to answer to. I expect everyone back in five minutes, dressed. Go."

There was a scramble for the doors. Once through the one demarcated "Boys", Harry found his shelf with no difficulty and pulled on the outfit, which resembled Dudley's old clothes more than anything, except that it actually fit him. He couldn't imagine why Fleming would want them to keep these clothes in the classroom, but she was the teacher.

"Harry, look," said Ron in a whisper, jerking his head toward the back of the room.

Blaise Zabini was changing in the back corner, apparently trying to escape attention. Harry could see why – there were three or four rather spectacular bruises on his arms and torso, and Harry suspected there were more on his legs. He turned his head quickly away, not wanting Blaise to see him staring.

"Wonder what happened," Ron said.

Harry snorted. "Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

"Mmm… he ran into a door."

"No."

"He fell down the stairs."

"Possible, but no."

"Crabbe and Goyle."

"Now you're talking," Harry said grimly.

They reemerged from the changing room and, at Fleming's direction, took seats on the floor. "My remarks this morning to many of you aside, courtesy has no place here," she said bluntly. "This is a training ground, not a classroom. You will pay attention to me and to your other teachers, and you will obey us. Is that understood?"

Silence.

"When I speak to you, you answer me, _Yes, ma'am_ or _No, ma'am._ When Professor Snape or Professor Lupin speaks to you, you answer _Yes, sir_ or _No, sir_. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," the class chorused.

"Good. Let us begin."

The rest of the class was a blur to Harry. They were split into groups and told to do stretches, push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and other things he thought he'd left behind in primary school. By the end of the two hours, he was as tired as he ever was after Quidditch practice, and wanted nothing more than a rest.

"Pitiful," Fleming said, surveying the class. "Completely pitiful. Homework for Wednesday – a two-mile run. Everyone take one of these." She held up a basket of small devices. "Clip this to your belt when you begin your run. It will flash at you when you reach the one-mile mark and emit a sound when you are finished. It will also tell me how fast you ran and over what kind of terrain. Good luck."

There were moans from some of the students, but everyone took one of the things.

"And bear in mind," Fleming called after them as they went to get changed. "This was the first day. It only gets harder from here."

"Wonderful," Ron said with a groan, sitting down on the bench in the changing room. "I'm going to hurt all over tomorrow."

"Got you beat," Blaise said with the ghost of a smile. "I hurt all over now."

"What happened?" Harry asked quietly.

Blaise's smile vanished. "Malfoy decided to make it a little clearer why I shouldn't be seeing Colleen," he said bitterly. "Or, rather, he decided to have his precious bodyguards make it a little clearer."

"Why are you telling us this?" Ron wanted to know. "Aren't Slytherins supposed to be all secretive?"

"Oh, you're Gryffindors," Blaise said. "Brave and noble. You won't tell anyone. Besides, you already know." He smiled wanly. " 'Always be truthful in accounts of yourself. Simply change the truth afterwards.' My father says that."

"What's it mean?" Harry asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

"I don't know. I think that's why he says it so much."

Ron laughed, and Harry had to smile. He found himself liking Blaise more and more. "Care to eat dinner with us?" he offered.

"If Hermione doesn't mind," Blaise said. "I know you always eat with her."

"She won't," Harry promised.

"Harry?" said Anthony Goldstein on his way out of the room. "When's the first DA meeting?"

Harry shrugged. "Sometime soon. Watch the bulletin boards. We might use this room if they'll let us, otherwise we're back in the Room of Requirement. Let everyone know?"

"Sure."

"Speaking of meetings," Harry said as they made their way down to the Great Hall, "when are you going to hold tryouts for Quidditch, Ron?"

"Next Monday night, I think. No, wait, make that Tuesday. We'll be too tired to fly after this class. Why did we ever sign up for it?"

"Because it's teaching things we're going to need?" Hermione suggested with a wince. "Not that I don't feel the same way, some, but we are going to have to shape up sometime. Now's as good as any. When do you want to go for that run?"

"Not tonight," Harry said. "I'll hurt enough tomorrow as it is. How about tomorrow afternoon, at three, between Herbology and Transfiguration?"

"If we can move," Blaise said. "And if I'm invited. I do have three o'clock off."

"Of course you're invited," Hermione said with a smile.

Harry smiled too, and quietly elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Don't get jealous," he muttered. "She's just being nice."

"Fine," Ron said huffily. "And you didn't have to get me right where Fleming _kicked_ me."

"Sorry." Professor Fleming had been displeased with Ron's rate of sit-ups and had provided a little gentle motivation. She had then called him "totally hopeless". Hermione had been unable to complete even three push-ups and been classified as "only good for lifting books". Harry had gotten off with "not entirely without promise".

"From Athena, that's a compliment," Remus had told him quietly a few minutes later. "And she doesn't compliment lightly."

_So I've been complimented by one Slytherin and I'm eating with another one. Life is certainly more complicated than it was a few days ago._

_But I think it's also going to be more fun._

-----

(A/N: It's less than a week since my last one… just barely…

emikae: Not exactly that you _should_ have figured out, but I think I did drop enough clues that you _could _have if you read really hard…

MAndrews: What, write an apology letter to a professor for spying on his thoughts?

marathonerobsessed: Well, you already took my life, you can't have my brain!

Tanydwr: I'll try!

MackenzieW: That's wonderful.

Jbfritz, harryp123: Thank you!

I hope updates will be more plentiful in the days to come… I'm getting over the exposition-heavy part, so there might even be some action soon, but please don't quote me!)


	23. Close Reading

Chapter 23: Close Reading

"Details," said Professor Roy, pacing around room 216, Wheaton Hall, where Harry's freshman seminar was held. "Details, details, details. It's all in the details, ladies and gentlemen. A comma can make the difference between an A and an A minus, between an A minus and a B plus. Pay attention to the details."

Harry yawned. _I wonder if he knows he's given us this same lecture twice already. Every time we get a paper back, in fact._ Erica's guidance had helped him with the detail portion immensely, so that his grades were consistently eight, nine, or even ten out of ten. Listening to a lecture that he no longer needed, for the third time, was getting literally painful. His head ached.

_I wish there was some way to get out of this..._

A shrill beeping sound echoed through the room. Simultaneously, Harry's pocket started vibrating.

_What the... oh. My cell phone._ "Sorry," Harry said, pulling it from his pocket. "Excuse me?"

Professor Roy nodded impatiently, and Harry slipped quickly out of the room. "Hello?"

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes."

"This is Campus Security. Sorry to bother you, but we've got somebody here who wants to see you, and our standing orders are to contact you with all requests. Gentleman says his name is Riddle. Tom Riddle."

Harry frowned. _I don't know anyone named Riddle..._

But in another in the series of strange things that had been happening since he came to Carrington, part of his mind insisted that he did, and provided a mental picture of a rather handsome, dark-haired boy, about seventeen, standing in some kind of stone cavern and talking to him...

Harry shook his head. _No way._ "Sorry, I don't know him. Can you tell him, very nicely, to go away?"

The Security man chuckled. "That's our job. Don't worry about a thing, we've got it covered."

"Thanks. Bye." Harry pressed the disconnect button on the phone and opened the door of the classroom. As he sat down in his place, his headache briefly intensified, concentrating in the middle of his forehead, directly under his scar. He winced and pressed a hand to it. _This hasn't happened to me in... a while. Years, I think. But I did used to get these a lot back at my old school._

Before he could track that thought down, though, the headache dissipated, leaving a sense of satisfaction, as if he'd finally made a decision that should have been made a long time ago.

_Well, that's good. I guess._

He returned to keeping track of Professor Roy's lecture, which was painful in its own way.

-----

"Oooh, I got a letter," Erica said. Harry heard her shut her mailbox. "Anyone else get anything?"

"Just a flyer from the Outdoors Club, and one about read-through tonight," Harry said, closing his own.

Ron and Ginny came out of the alcove where their boxes were, Ron empty-handed, Ginny with the bright yellow piece of paper reminding her of the first cast meeting for _Twelfth Night_, where the actors would get to know each other and read the play aloud. Hermione followed Erica out of the alcove on the other side of Harry's, carrying three or four flyers of different contrasting colors.

"How many clubs are you in?" Ron asked.

"Enough," Hermione said shortly, stuffing the flyers into her bag. "Erica, are you sure that's for you? It says... I don't know what it says."

"It's my dad's handwriting," Erica said. "He's a doctor, and he's left-handed, so his writing's terrible. Here, look at this."

She tore the letter open and showed them the first line.

"Ear Erica," Ginny read. "Ear? Shouldn't that be dear?"

"It is. But his letters slant backwards, so the top of the D is missing – he wrote it right off the paper. Look, there's the bottom of it, right there."

Harry leaned in to look, and was reminded of the letters he used to get when he was younger, the ones that came with big tropical birds...

_Whoa._ He shook his head. _Hello, weird idea central. Big tropical birds delivering mail?_

"Strange," Ron said, shaking his head. "Come on, let's see what's for dinner."

-----

Harry yawned, stretched, and wished he hadn't. His muscles _hurt_ from Muggle Defense yesterday. But as he moved, the pain reduced somewhat, until getting up was actually an option rather than just something in the realm of possibility. It was spurred along by the fact that he was quite hungry.

As he pulled on his pants, Harry noticed that only Ron's and Dean's bedcurtains were still drawn. Dean was another member of their Muggle Defense class. _I think I see a pattern here._

"Ron, wake up."

"Mmmmmrrggh."

Harry checked his watch. It was 8:15. "Ron, come on, get up. We've only got 45 minutes before class."

"Go'way."

_Time for drastic measures._

Harry grabbed his own pillow and started smacking Ron with it. "Get – up – now," he said, pounding Ron with every word. "Up – now – let's – go."

"Agh – all right, all right, I'm up!" Ron protested, fending the pillow off with one arm. "Who are you, Hermione?"

"Do you want to be late for Fred and George's first day of class?" Harry asked. "I don't. Especially not with that hint they dropped that they'll be using Malfoy as a guinea pig."

"They _are?_"

"Oh, that's right, you weren't there," Harry recalled. "Yes. They are. Malfoy signed up for an easy pass before anyone knew who was teaching. Now he's stuck with it."

Ron grinned. "I want to see this."

"So do I," Harry said, matching his friend's smile. "So get up. I'll wait for you in the common room."

To his surprise, Ginny was there with Hermione, chatting idly. "Hello, Harry," she said. "I didn't see you at all yesterday, we were both so busy. How's Professor Fleming?"

"She's good," Harry said. "Tough, but good. She won't let you get away with anything."

"It's a good thing my idiot brothers aren't students anymore, then," Ginny observed with a smile.

"Yes, it is," Hermione said positively. "She might put up with wisecracking professors, but wisecracking students..."

"What about prankster students?" Harry brought up. "I'm sure she's heard about the swamp. And the fireworks. And the nifflers in Umbridge's office."

"Be fair, Harry, that wasn't them," Ginny protested. "It was Lee."

"But they got the nifflers for him," Harry said. "So it was their fault, in a way..."

"Oh, Harry, before I forget," Hermione said, and handed him the Map. She had taken her turn with it the night before. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Idly, Harry activated the Map in its normal mode and watched Peeves divebomb Mrs. Norris on the sixth floor.

Ron came thumping down the stairs. "Food?" he said. "Now?"

"Who are you, Lanie?" Ginny asked, getting up.

Hermione looked at her oddly. "What?"

"Lanie. From the books, you know. She always asks if people want to eat just that way. 'Food? Now?' "

"Do I _look_ like a girl?" Ron said tartly, climbing through the portrait hole.

This made Ginny and Hermione laugh, recalling a portion of _Costume of Doom_ where Erica had said that if Fran were dressed correctly and taught how to move, she could pass for a man. She had meant it as a compliment. Fran had not been amused.

"And thus, Francesca Anderson knocked down and conquered Mount Gorelli, standing with one foot atop the giggling mass of stone," Ginny said through her own giggles.

"I'd love to see that," Harry said. "Maybe sometime they'll show us how it looked."

"What?" Hermione asked.

Ron, who was in the lead, stopped short.

"Harry, what are you talking about?" Ginny said in an odd tone. Guarded, almost, Harry thought. As if she were sheltering a secret.

Harry took a breath, ready to tell them about his dreams, when a voice rang out through the hallways.

"_May I have your attention, please. Today's session of Practical Magic has been cancelled. I repeat, today's session of Practical Magic has been cancelled. Thank you."_

It was Professor McGonagall's voice, magically amplified, of course, but Harry thought she sounded a bit strained somehow.

Ron groaned. "Not fair. Now we're stuck with a full day of regular classes and nothing fun."

"We have Care of Magical Creatures before lunch," Hermione said. "That's usually fun. But I will miss seeing Fred and George teach."

"I wonder what happened?" Ginny said. "Those two wouldn't miss their first day as professors unless they couldn't help it."

There was a loud cracking noise which made everyone jump. "Harry Potter, sir?" said a squeaky voice.

"Yes, that's me," Harry said, looking down. A house-elf wearing the Hogwarts tea-towel was standing next to him.

"A note, sir, from Professor McGonagall. She is wanting to see you, sir, right away," the house-elf said, handing him the note.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Er, what's your name?"

The house-elf twisted its towel hem shyly in its hands. "Grabe, sir."

"Thank you, Grabe."

"You is welcome, sir." The small creature disappeared with another crack. Harry ripped the note open.

_Potter –_

_Come to the Headmaster's office immediately. Bring the Weasleys. The password is "Fainting Fancies"._

It wasn't signed, but he knew Professor McGonagall's handwriting well enough. "What do you think?" he said, handing it to Ron.

"I think we'd better get moving," said Ginny after she had read it. "Coming, Hermione?"

"It didn't say me," Hermione objected.

"They're unlikely to throw you out," Ron said over his shoulder. "You know everything we do anyway."

"True enough."

"I wonder what's going on," Ginny said thoughtfully as they walked. "First classes cancelled, then a note from McGonagall..."

"Fainting Fancies," Harry said to the gargoyle. Up the stairs and through the door they went, and stopped short.

The Headmaster's office was a buzz of confusion. Mrs. Weasley was crying in a corner. Lee Jordan, looking dazed, and Angelina Johnson (Johnson-Weasley now, Harry remembered), also crying, were sitting together on a bench with Remus talking to them. Lee had one hand pressed to his head, with something white in it, and as he moved his head, Harry saw spots of red on it. His stomach sank.

"Ah, there you are, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up. He, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape were bent over something on his desk, examining it. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger."

"What's going on?" Harry asked, with a terrible feeling that he already knew the answer.

"There was an attack on Diagon Alley last night," Professor McGonagall said heavily. "Three people are confirmed dead. Several more were badly injured, including George Weasley." Mrs. Weasley let out a fresh sob. Ginny went to her and hugged her while listening. "He is at St. Mungo's, being treated. Miss Spinnet – his wife," McGonagall corrected herself, "is with him there. But there is a more serious problem."

Hermione put her hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Fred Weasley is missing."

Harry felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. _Missing? Fred? What does that even mean?_ Ron had gone chalk-white at the word, his freckles standing out in stark relief, and Ginny's face was hidden in her mother's shoulder.

"M-missing?" Hermione faltered.

"He was not found among the dead or wounded, nor has he answered our communications," Snape said curtly. "And we have received a note purportedly from him, claiming that he has been captured by Death Eaters."

Mrs. Weasley made a small moaning noise.

Angelina looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, as if she'd been crying all night. "It looks like his writing," she said, her voice shaking. "But I think something's wrong – but I don't _know!_ Everything's all wrong..." She trailed off into sobs and buried her face in a handkerchief which looked somehow familiar to Harry.

_How can I be thinking about a handkerchief? George is hurt, Fred's missing, and he might have been taken by Voldemort – _

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. Harry looked up. "Sit down." He conjured a chair, which Harry sank into. "I think you need to see this." He came around his desk and held out a small irregular piece of parchment. Harry accepted it and looked it over.

_Professor – _

_I've been captured. The DE's say the attack was because of Harry, because of something he did last night. They say they're going to kill me at noon. Please, help me._

_Fred_

Harry's head swam.

_Because of me. _

_No. No. Not more death. Not Fred. Please, no. _

_Not because of me._

"Harry." Dumbledore was standing in front of him. "I realize this is difficult, but please try to remember. Did you dream last night?"

Harry nodded.

"What did you dream? Was Voldemort involved at all?"

"I'm... not sure," Harry said, trying to think back. He'd gone to class, there'd been a phone call...

To buy himself some time, he looked back down at the note. Fred had obviously been in a tearing hurry while he was writing. The first word "of", which ended the first line, was half-missing – the whole top loop of the F was off the page...

"Harry," said Remus' voice. Harry jumped and came back to reality. Remus was standing next to Dumbledore, looking down at him. "Please, try to remember. It may be important."

"There was something," Harry said slowly, remembering standing in the hallway of Wheaton Hall, not sure if he knew a Tom Riddle or not. "I think it was him. He wanted to come in somewhere, and I wouldn't let him. I wanted to keep doing... what I was doing... so I said I didn't know him and told him to go away." _And made him angry. And now people have died – Fred's going to die – because of me..._

"Good," Remus said with real approval. "Harry, that's wonderful. You blocked him out."

"But people died because of it," Harry said painfully, still staring at the note. Something was wrong with it, it was at the front of his brain...

"No." Remus sounded very stern. "No. Harry – look at me – Harry, _this is not your fault_. You did nothing wrong. You're being used as an excuse. This is just another kind of control – more subtle, more indirect. Don't give in. Don't let Voldemort dictate what you think."

_What makes you any different than him?_ Harry wondered dully. _Why should I let _you_ tell me what to think?_ He nodded, though, and Remus pressed his shoulder and returned to Lee and Angelina.

It didn't matter what he did, Harry thought, staring at the floor. Nothing he could do mattered now. Fred was going to die, and then...

_Ron will hate me forever. All the Weasleys will. Hermione, too, she's practically a Weasley already... Angelina, Alicia, Lee, Katie... everyone in the DA, everyone I know... they'll all hate me for letting him die..._

"Harry James Potter," said a low voice in front of him. He jumped and looked up guiltily. Ginny stood in front of him, her face filled with fury. "Are you even _considering_ thinking that this is your fault?" she hissed. "Are you?"

Dumbly, Harry nodded. _How did she know?_

Ginny's lips curled back from her teeth. "Get over here," she said, seized his wrist, and dragged him out of his chair and over to Mrs. Weasley. "Here he is, Mum."

_Oh, no. Bad idea._ Harry would have run, but Mrs. Weasley was already standing up. _Is she going to hit me?_ He braced himself –

Only to have her embrace him and start weeping into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed out. "I'm so sorry, Harry. This is so wrong. You poor boy. Trying to blame this on you."

_She has one son in the hospital and one captured by Death Eaters and she's worried about _me?_ Ron's right, his family _is_ all mental!_

But part of the tense, horrible feeling inside him went away. His friends obviously weren't blaming this on him, and that made it easier not to blame himself.

"You can't control what Voldemort says, Harry," Hermione said in his ear. "He could just as easily have said he was attacking because the moon is made of green cheese. That doesn't make it true."

The tenseness vanished. Harry felt almost giddy. _Hermione's right. Hermione's always right. He can say whatever he wants. That doesn't make it true._

_It's not my fault._

"Harry?" Ron said in a choked voice. "Your bag's flashing."

"What?" Harry looked at his schoolbag, still strung over his shoulder. It was, indeed, emitting flashes of green light. "Oh. Let me see." He dug into his bag and came up with –

The Map.

_I didn't know it could glow._

**-Finally!-** Padfoot scribbled. **-We've been trying to get your attention for five minutes.-**

**(What is going on out there?)** Moony wrote. **(We heard something about Voldemort, and Fred Weasley, and a note...)**

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, turning so what he was doing wouldn't be totally obvious to the rest of the room. Ron and Hermione came to look over his shoulder. "Yeah, you pretty much got it."

**:Can we see the note?:** Prongs wanted to know. **:You could copy it onto the Map.:**

"Um, okay." Harry touched his wand to the note, Copied it, and tapped the Map twice. The contents of the note appeared there.

**-Well, let's have a look,-** Padfoot wrote underneath it. **-I never got a chance to see his writing, he hasn't used the Map enough to accumulate a personality yet – does this look like it to you, Harry?-**

"I wouldn't really know either," Harry said regretfully. "Angelina says it does, though."

**:She is his wife. Ron? You're the other resident expert.:**

"I don't know," Ron said, rubbing his eyes. "I just don't know." He sounded tired and worried, and Harry realized that none of them had eaten breakfast yet.

_Something's wrong here, but I don't know if it's wrong with me, because I'm hungry and scared, or if it's wrong with the note..._

He looked at the Map as Ron and Hermione went over to Mrs. Weasley. The writing from the note sat there, glistening, with Padfoot's comment beneath it, and Prongs' beneath that.

_Padfoot's writing looks different than Prongs'. Or the note._

Something stirred in Harry's mind. "Ashcoat," he said quietly.

**;You called?; **his own handwriting scrawled.

"I'm having part of an idea. Something about the writing. Help me out?"

**;All right. What do you have?;**

"All I know is, it's something about Padfoot. Something important."

**-Little old me?-**

"Yes. Something about... about your writing. And about the last time I saw you..."

**;You mean the last time you saw Sirius. The Department of Mysteries?;**

"No. Before that."

**;In the fire.;**

"Before that too."

**;That puts it back to Christmas.;**

"Yes. Christmas. Something about Christmas. The end of the Christmas holidays." Harry was certain he was onto something. "We said goodbye. Sirius gave me the mirror. We went down the walk. Remus called the Knight Bus..." He stopped.

**(Something about me? Or something about the Knight Bus?)**

"The Knight Bus," Harry said. "How do you call the Knight Bus?"

**:Stick out your wand hand,:** Prongs answered promptly. **:How else?:**

"Your wand hand." _I'm close. I can feel it._ "Your wand hand is your writing hand, isn't it?"

**-Usually.-**

Harry had a flash of his first ever trip to Diagon Alley, at Ollivanders, where he had been measured for his wand.

"_Which is your wand hand, Mr. Potter?"_

**;I think you're close,;** Ashcoat wrote.

Harry looked at his own writing, then at Padfoot's, then up at the note. He leaned in close to the Map and whispered a question. The answer shot him onto his feet.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said aloud, getting everyone's attention. "The note's a fake. And I can prove it."

-----

(A/N: Can you?

OK, maybe I've been reading too many Encyclopedia Brown mysteries. But I think I put enough clues in this chapter, and in the story up to now, that you should be able to say how Harry knows the note is a fake. And if you can't, just review anyway – please!

emikae: You can if you like – I'd love it if you did, of course, but that's me and my ego talking.

marathonerobsessed: We discussed this already, my friend. I have one thing to say to you – Food? Now? (OK, that's two things... and this makes three... never mind.)

blueJosh: You didn't miss anything – the chapters only covered one day, and Harry just didn't see Ginny during that day.

harryp123: OK!

MAndrews: Oh, don't I just wish...

MackenzieW: That sounds cool.

Silver Warrior: Thank you so much for the many reviews!

Hugs to all reviewers! Please, if you read, review – I might update sooner if you do!)


	24. Revelations and Secrets

Chapter 24: Revelations and Secrets

_Harry looked at his own writing, then at Padfoot's, then up at the note. He leaned in close to the Map and whispered a question. The answer shot him onto his feet._

"_Professor Dumbledore," he said aloud, getting everyone's attention. "The note's a fake. And I can prove it."_

* * *

"Do so, by all means, Harry," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. 

_I'd better make absolutely sure, I know the Map shouldn't be able to lie, but just in case..._ "Remus, Sirius was left-handed, wasn't he?"

Remus nodded. "Why?"

"I just wanted to be sure. He was my comparison."

"Comparison for what, exactly?" Snape said dryly.

"Fred Weasley's left-handed," Harry said, making Fred's mother and wife both stare at him. "And this note was written by a right-handed person."

"Why would the Death Eaters make such an obvious mistake?" McGonagall asked.

"George is right-handed," Harry said quickly, putting it together in his head as he spoke. "Whoever forged this must have gotten a sample of George's handwriting and either mistaken him for Fred or figured that since they're twins, they write as alike as they do everything else. But they don't. They favor different hands."

"Are you certain, Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently. "It seems odd that you know this fact, which neither Fred's mother nor his wife are cognizant of."

"I'm positive, sir." Harry paused, then realized he'd have to say it to convince them. "I used it to blackmail them."

Whatever reaction this might have gotten was forestalled by the sudden eruption of green flames in Dumbledore's fireplace. Alicia Spinnet-Weasley stumbled out, covered in ashes, and managed to say three words before she started coughing. But the three words were enough.

"Fred's all right."

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny let out shrieks of joy. Angelina gasped and hugged Lee, who was grinning madly. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and squeezed it hard, until he pulled her into a hug. Harry felt a great weight lift from him.

"Where is he?" Dumbledore asked.

"At St. Mungo's," Alicia said, brushing ash from her face. "Angelina, he wants you."

"I'm on my way," Angelina said, with a look of half-relief, half-fury on her face. Harry was rather glad he wasn't Fred – he suspected Fred was going to catch hell for scaring her like this.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, Angelina detoured on her way to the fireplace and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Harry," she said.

"I didn't do anything," Harry protested. "Alicia was already on her way, you would have known in another minute anyway."

"You don't take compliments well, do you," Angelina said with a small smile. "Thank you anyway." She left without further delay.

"Don't just stand there," Lee urged Alicia. "What happened?"

"Do you know what they were doing when the attack happened?" Alicia asked the room at large. Shaking heads greeted her. "They were testing out Metamorphmagus Mints," she said with some disgust. "A new, longer-lasting formula. And George grabbed a reverser before he ran outside to fight, but Fred didn't."

"So he looked like someone else," McGonagall said in dawning comprehension. "And he was probably unconscious, so he couldn't tell anyone who he was."

"Exactly. He's a bit banged-up, but he's going to be all right."

Lee rolled his eyes. "That's just like him, going outside with someone else's face on. Sir, can I go down to the Great Hall and find Katie?" he asked Dumbledore. "I owled her when it happened, if she's gotten it she's probably frantic. I should tell her everything's all right."

"And I should get back," Alicia said, turning back to the fireplace.

"I'll go with you," said Mrs. Weasley, rising. "Harry, dear, thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Harry mumbled, feeling more embarrassed than ever when she kissed him too. _Do I have a "Kiss Me" sign on my back that I don't know about?_

"You four should get some breakfast," Dumbledore said in Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny's direction as Alicia and Mrs. Weasley Flooed away, the usual twinkle in his eyes firmly reinstated. "Classes start in half an hour."

Harry looked at his watch and refrained from swearing in front of the Headmaster, his Head of House, and the professor who had given him a detention which he had yet to serve. Dumbledore was overestimating – they had twenty minutes, if that.

"However, since your first class of the morning was cancelled," Dumbledore continued, "due to the fact that both your teachers are in St. Mungo's, you should have plenty of time. Miss Weasley, I think Professor McGonagall will overlook a little tardiness this one time – you have Transfiguration first today, I believe?"

Ginny nodded.

"Then off you go, and do not rush your meal. Eating in a leisurely way is far more pleasurable, not to mention better for the digestion."

"Mr. Potter," Snape said when they were most of the way out the door. Harry turned back, bracing himself for a tirade.

But, to his utter amazement, what Snape said was, "Good work."

* * *

"Look out the window," Ginny said once they'd reached the hall. 

"What for?"

"To make sure the sky isn't falling."

"She's right, mate," Ron said. "Snape giving you a compliment has to mean the world is ending."

"Oh, stop it," Hermione said. "Professor Snape's allowed to give Harry compliments if he wants to."

"But that's the point, Hermione. He never wants to. He hates Harry. Something's off if he's suddenly handing out compliments."

"He's not handing them out," Hermione snapped. "It was one in a lifetime. And it was good deduction, Harry. But what did you need to blackmail the twins about?"

"Er, can we not talk about this right now?" Harry said feebly as they reached the doors into the Great Hall. "I kind of want to eat."

"Later, then," Hermione said in a "don't-even-think-of-forgetting" tone.

* * *

The rest of the day was pleasant, as if determined to make up for the rather nasty scare it had started with. Hagrid, for once, had something for them to study that was neither poisonous nor frightening. What it was, was invisible. 

"There's nothing _in_ there," Ron protested, staring at the cage Hagrid was holding, which indeed seemed to hold only a collection of branches and leaves.

"Ar, isn' there then?" Hagrid said with a smile. "Jus' yeh watch."

He reached in and pulled out – something. Or was he only pretending to hold whatever it was –

And then Harry's doubts resolved, as whatever-it-was revealed itself, to the gasps and amazed noises of the class.

It resembled a monkey or an ape, with oddly familiar-looking silvery fur and placid black eyes. It was probably about two feet long, Harry estimated, though against Hagrid everything looked small.

"Righ', then, who kin tell me wha' this little beauty is?" Hagrid asked, holding it up.

Predictably, Hermione's hand was up first. Hagrid called on her. "A demiguise," she said. "Herbivorous, peaceful creatures, which can become invisible at will. Their fur is used to weave Invisibility Cloaks."

"Very good, ten points ta Gryffindor," Hagrid said. "Who wants ter pet Killer?"

"_Killer?_" Harry repeated, laughing, as he came forward and stroked the demiguise's fur. It did, indeed, have the same water-in-solid feel as his Invisibility Cloak.

"Well, she's gotta have a name, doesn' she?" Hagrid said in tones of great reasonableness.

* * *

After lunch, Professor McGonagall made them draw names for partner work in Transfiguration, since they would be starting to learn the difficult and often dangerous spells involved in human transfiguration. Harry remembered, in his second year, overhearing McGonagall shouting at someone who had turned his friend into a badger. Apparently he hadn't been meant to. 

McGonagall had an enchanted basket of names ready, which would ensure that the name of anyone who drew from it would be removed, and she started at the top of the class roster and worked down, skipping the people who were chosen.

Harry wasn't chosen before his turn came, so he got to draw for his partner. Ron had already been chosen, and Hermione's turn had passed, so Harry was actually rather happy to come up with Blaise Zabini's name in his hand. Blaise gave him a small smile from the back of the room.

_He looks awful. I didn't notice that in Magical Creatures this morning – wait, was he even there?_

"Now, spend a few minutes talking with your partner, get to know them a bit better," Professor McGonagall said. "You will be working together all of first term and possibly part of second as well. A certain level of trust is vital between partners."

Hermione said something under her breath that Harry wasn't sure he'd heard correctly, and wasn't sure he wanted to – because if it was what he thought it was, he'd never heard even Ron say anything like it.

He couldn't blame her, though. He would have sworn too if he'd landed Draco Malfoy as a more-or-less permanent Transfiguration partner.

Ron had looked decidedly relieved when Seamus Finnigan had pulled his name out, and they were chatting easily about Quidditch. Harry got up and went back to sit next to Blaise, watching Hermione make her way – slowly – across the room towards Malfoy, who was glowering at McGonagall.

"That's bad news all around," Blaise said frankly, following Harry's line of sight.

Harry laughed. "That's an understatement. Are you all right?"

Blaise shrugged. "I'll be fine. Are we still up for that run at three?"

"I think so. Meet us on the Quidditch pitch?"

"All right. What happened in Care of Magical Creatures this morning? I had to miss it."

"I noticed. Where were you?"

Blaise flicked another look towards Malfoy, who had pushed his chair back against the wall and was talking to Hermione from a distance of several feet. "Hospital wing," he said quietly.

"What, again?" Harry said in surprise.

"Yes – and I meant to ask you. How did you know I was there yesterday? No one saw me go in, and I was in Madame Pomfrey's office the whole time, so you couldn't have seen me from the hall..." Blaise let his sentence trail off and looked at Harry expectantly.

"Lucky guess," Harry said nonchalantly. He wasn't about to reveal the Marauders' Map to someone he barely knew, no matter how nice.

"Nice try." Blaise rummaged in his bag and pulled something out. It was the note they had written back and forth in Defense the day before. "Says right here, in your handwriting, 'I spotted you in hospital'. How?"

"How mad would you be if I told you I can't tell you how?"

"I wouldn't be mad, just curious. And Slytherins are dangerous when they're curious. We really hate other people having secrets," Blaise said lightly. "And we're very good at figuring them out."

"Is that a threat?" Harry asked, glancing around the room himself to be sure they weren't being overheard.

"No, it's a warning."

"What's the difference?"

"Whatever it is you have that told you where I was, I'm not planning to use it against you. I just want to know about it. That's the difference."

"I still can't tell you," Harry said. "Not yet."

"Not until you know me better," Blaise said. "Not until you're sure you can trust me."

Harry nodded. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. If you looked only at the, ah, more vocal members of my House, you'd probably get the idea that no Slytherin can be trusted – and that's not entirely untrue."

"Really?"

"Well, let me put it this way. A Slytherin always has his own agenda. Always. He may agree entirely with your agenda, and be perfectly happy to help you out with it, but he will always have his own as well."

"So what's your agenda?" Harry asked, knowing he probably wouldn't get a fully truthful answer – but it couldn't hurt to ask.

"Passing my classes," Blaise countered. "And keeping my skin whole. I may ask for that dorm switch after all. Twice in two days is a little too much for me. But enough about me. Let's talk about you. Is it true McGonagall wanted to make you Gryffindor Quidditch captain and you turned her down?"

* * *

After Transfiguration was over, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed back to the Gryffindor dorms to change into exercise clothes and get their magical pedometers, as Hermione informed them the devices were known. Blaise was waiting for them at the entrance to the Quidditch pitch. "I suppose we could do laps," he said, looking at the smooth expanse of grass. 

"That'll get boring fast, though," Hermione said. "Why don't we run down by the lake?"

"Too many rocks," Ron objected. "My legs hurt enough already."

"We could do half a mile out along the lake and half a mile back," Harry suggested. "Then do the second mile around the pitch."

To his surprise, everyone seemed amenable to this idea, and they clipped the pedometers to their belts and began.

"Don't go too fast," Hermione warned. "We have a long way to go."

Long it was. And painful. By the time they turned around, Harry's legs already ached all over, and he knew he was only one-quarter done. Ron was wheezing a bit, his face rather red, but he wasn't complaining.

"Try... think... of something... else..." Hermione panted out. "Not... how much... your legs... hurt."

"What, your legs hurt?" Blaise returned jokingly.

Harry was extremely grateful to see the Quidditch pitch looming up over them. As they passed through the gates, the pedometers lit up briefly with a blinking blue light. Harry recalled Fleming telling them the devices would do this when they had run one mile.

_One down, one to go. If I make it that far._

Ron's shirt was visibly sticking to him now. Harry's own felt unpleasantly damp. Hermione seemed to be running with her teeth gritted. Blaise had developed a bit of a limp that Harry didn't much like the looks of.

Four times around the Quidditch pitch equaled a mile, they discovered, and as the pedometers emitted a loud beeping sound, Harry slowed to a halt, feeling as if he wanted to fall over where he stood.

"Don't... stop," Hermione panted. "We have to... walk. Cool... down. We'll get... hurt if we don't."

Ron groaned. "No. Hell no. I am not going another step until I have to."

"Your muscles'll all cramp up if you don't," Blaise warned. "I had it happen once after a really intense game of Quidditch. It _really_ hurts."

"All right..." Ron lurched to his feet, and Harry followed him, noticing that Blaise's limp was less pronounced now that they were moving more slowly. Or was it just that Blaise was hiding it better?

One slow, walking lap of the Quidditch pitch later, Harry felt a little better. At least, he no longer felt as if he wanted to find a hole and crawl in. Which was good, because as he checked his watch, he did the swearing that he'd refrained from that morning in front of Dumbledore. They had only ten minutes to get up to the castle, change, and get to Herbology, or whatever Blaise had at four o'clock.

"See you tomorrow," Blaise said as they entered the castle. "Harry, would you do me a favor? Ask Colleen if she'll meet me after dinner – she knows where."

"All right. See you tomorrow."

* * *

After Herbology and dinner, Harry went back to the Gryffindor common room and sank thankfully into an armchair. 

"So," Ron said, plopping into the chair across from Harry's, "what were you blackmailing the twins about?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Do you want Hermione to slap you?"

"No."

"Then you don't. Trust me."

Ron shrugged. "All right. But she's not going to let you get away with that."

"And here she comes," Harry said with a wince as Hermione came running down the girls' staircase. "Hermione, honestly, I can't tell you right now – "

"Can't tell me what? Harry, did you forget? You have detention with Snape, right now!"

"What?" Harry felt his stomach drop. He _had_ forgotten. "Thanks, Hermione. I'll see you when I get back."

"_If _you get back," Ron said, making a face. "We'll come looking for you if you're not back by morning."

"Thanks," Harry said with a brief smile. He checked his watch on the way out the portrait hole. Hermione had exaggerated, but not by much. He had time to get to Snape's office by seven, if – he groaned inwardly – he ran all the way.

_This day seems to be all about running places._

He arrived in front of Snape's office door at 6:59 and 47 seconds, flushed, panting, but on time. He took a few seconds to try to compose himself, then knocked on the door.

"Enter," Snape's voice called.

Harry took one final deep breath and opened the door.

* * *

"Well?" Hermione asked as Harry climbed through the portrait hole at ten to midnight. 

"Lines," Harry said wearily. "Five hundred lines." He rubbed his right hand, which ached.

"That's rough," Ron said sympathetically. "What'd they say?"

"_I will never again invade Professor Snape's privacy,_" Harry recited.

"It could have been a lot worse, though, Harry," Hermione said practically. "Usually he has people scrubbing cauldrons for detention."

"He sat there watching me the entire time," Harry said flatly. "And criticizing me. 'You smeared that line, Potter. Do the sheet over. You blotted that I – do it again. Who taught you to write – a gorilla?' "

"Gorilla's handwriting is pretty neat, actually," Ron said thoughtfully.

"What?" Harry said.

"Gorilla. Erica. Big Guy calls her that. Why are you staring at me?"

"How do you know what Big Guy calls Erica?" Hermione asked in a tone that was almost a whisper.

Ron looked at her oddly. "It's in the books, Hermione. You better write this down, Harry – the day Hermione forgot what was in a book..."

"You're right," Hermione said quickly. "I did forget. Ha, silly me. Of course, Gorilla, for Gorelli." She laughed, but it sounded a trifle forced, Harry thought.

Then something occurred to him. "Ron, how do you know what Erica Gorelli's handwriting looks like? The books are all printed."

"Her signature's in there," Ron said, digging in his bag and pulling out a copy of _Insane Dorm Hall_. "Have a look."

Hermione took the book and flipped through it. "So it is," she said in a tone of relief. "See, Harry? Right there."

"Hermione, I didn't say it wasn't," Harry protested. "What's wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me," Hermione said in a slightly hectic tone. "Why would you think there was?" She looked quickly at her wrist. "Oh, look at the time. I should get to bed. Good night!"

Harry and Ron watched Hermione run up the girls' staircase as if there were an erumpent after her. Ron frowned. "How'd she know what time it was?"

"She looked at her watch," Harry said, feeling a little annoyed that both his best friends were obsessed with the obvious tonight.

Ron shook his head. "No, she didn't."

"How do you know?"

"Because she wasn't wearing one."

Harry sighed. "Whatever. She has the right idea, though. Let's go to bed. I'm exhausted, and my hand hurts."

* * *

This time, Harry's cell phone went off in the middle of choir practice. "That's odd, I don't see a cell phone solo in the music," Big Guy said, making everyone laugh. 

"Sorry," Harry muttered, hurrying down from the risers and out into the hall. "Hello?"

"Mr. Potter, this is Security again. Sorry to bother you, but you've got another visitor here. A Ms. Umbridge."

_Umbridge..._ Her, Harry remembered. A horrible little toad of a woman, who had tried to make him come with her until Fran had intervened. "I don't want to see her. Tell her to go away, please. And don't bother being polite."

The Security man laughed. "Will do."

"Thanks. Bye."

Harry returned to choir practice feeling far more cheerful.

* * *

(A/N: I made a mistake in stating Harry's schedule in earlier chapters. He has Transfiguration before Herbology on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I'll fix that sometime soon... 

Nice work, everyone! Most of you got the answer right!

MackenzieW: Oh yeah...

MAndrews: Oh, they will be more intertwined every day...

pad's gurl584: Hmph. :smile:

rosie: Twelve pleases! Wow!

harryp123: Here.

Jessa L'Rynn: She'd be rampaging if she knew for sure that Fred got himself caught, but not knowing what happened to him kind of caught her off guard.

Tigoamy: You do? Wow. :blush:

blueJosh: Just wait, she'll be there!

marathonerobsessed: I never said that. :sticks out tongue:

Silver Warrior: The twins will get over it.

Ariatina McAlpin: Get it now?

Lady Cinnibar: I knew starting Specters was a mistake. ;-)

shimmereys: Completed? It is not!

I think I may have cracked my writer's block on this story... but no promises, sorry! Keep your eyes open, though, I'll really try to get another chapter up soon!)


	25. Understanding

Chapter 25: Understanding 

Harry lay on his bed, eyes closed, body tense.

_Please, not again. Not again. Just let it be over. Just let us sleep. Just..._

He groaned, but it wasn't audible over the high-pitched keening of the fire alarm.

"Why are we even bothering trying to go back to bed?" said Ron in annoyance as they left their room again.

Ginny's Weasley hair stood out in the glow of the outdoor building lights, enabling the boys to find her and Hermione quickly. Harry handed Ginny his jacket, since she'd come out without one. "You know, I like being with you late at night," he said, "but this is ridiculous."

"This is more than ridiculous, this is insane," said Hermione tartly. "This is what, the fifth fire alarm in the last half-hour? And it's four o'clock in the morning!"

"And it's not likely to stop," said Erica wearily, coming over to them. "I heard someone say it's a malfunctioning smoke detector way up high in the ceiling of the dining hall, and they can't find anyone with a long enough ladder to get at it, so this is just going to keep on happening until they do." She waved towards the main door of Rivers, where a small conclave of girls was meeting. "The RA's are trying to figure out some way we can all go inside and stay there, since the building's obviously not on fire."

"Wish they would," said Ron, casting a longing look at the building. "It's bloody cold out here."

Rose came to stand with them, shivering in her short-sleeved nightgown. "Does this feel like a bad dream to anyone else?" she asked plaintively.

Harry's eyelids were suddenly very heavy. He yawned.

"Harry, are you all right?" Erica sounded concerned. "You're kind of swaying."

The world began to tilt. Harry felt mildly alarmed, not having the energy for any greater degree of worry.

"Harry!" Ron's voice was almost panicky. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Another voice superimposed itself.

"Harry, wake up. Come on, wake up. Harry, please, wake up, it's late."

_Wake up? I'm already awake. _

_And who is that, anyway?_

The voice was male but a trifle squeaky, nervous-sounding, and familiar, it seemed, to one part of his mind, but not to the rest...

Harry forced his eyes open and saw, for one instant, a round, worried face near his own, and could almost name the boy to which it belonged...

Then his eyes closed and opened again, and he was back outside Rivers Hall, lying on damp grass, head pillowed in Ginny's lap, with Ron shaking him. "Harry, wake up!"

"I'm awake," said Harry quickly, sitting up. "I'm all right. I don't know what happened, but I'm all right, I think–"

Without warning, Ron's eyes rolled back in his head, his eyelids snapped shut, and he pitched forward onto Harry, who hurriedly caught him. Hermione cried out in alarm and dropped to her knees beside him. Together, she and Harry got him turned over. Ron's eyes flickered open and shut, unfocused, and Harry suddenly wondered if his friend were also seeing two discordant realities, two things that couldn't possibly both be true...

After a few moments, Ron jerked all over, eyes shooting open. "Weird," he said fervently. "Harry, you remember that Longbottom kid, the one we used to go to school with?"

"Sure. Neville."

"I just had – I guess it was a dream, but you're not supposed to dream if you're unconscious, are you? I saw him, he was saying you wouldn't wake up, and trying to get me to..." Ron looked confused. "I don't understand."

"Me neither." Harry looked back at Rivers. The noise had stopped, and Fran was jogging toward them.

"Everyone inside," she said when she got close enough to be heard over the sound of four hundred relieved college students. "They're turning the sound down on the alarms until they get them fixed, but everyone's supposed to wait in the lounges until we say you can go back to your rooms. Everything all right over here?"

"Harry and Ron just... passed out, kind of," said Erica. "But they look OK now."

"We're fine," said Harry, quickly getting to his feet as Ron did the same. "Just overtired."

"I think that's going to be epidemic on this campus tomorrow. Anyone have early classes?"

Harry and Ginny raised their hands. Their theatre course met at nine am.

"Good luck," said Fran, mingling sarcasm and true good wishes in the tone as only she could. "Does the prof take off for falling asleep on your book?"

"Don't know," said Ginny. "No one ever has."

Erica chuckled. "Last year in my intro to English, we had a sleeper once a week for a while – until the professor started getting the biggest book he could find and dropping it on the person's desk."

"I had a professor who answered a girl's cell phone once in class," Rose volunteered as they made their way inside. She giggled in her inimitable style, drawing looks from all around. "He made out like he'd just spent the night with her – and it was her boyfriend on the other end! She was in tears!"

Trading class horror stories kept everyone amused for a while as they all tried to find comfortable places to sit or lie in the overcrowded lounge. Hermione put her head in Ron's lap and went to sleep. Ginny leaned against a pillar and did the same. Ron's eyes closed once or twice, but they always blinked open again quickly.

Harry sat next to Ginny, watching her eyes move beneath her closed lids, wondering what she was dreaming of...

"Everyone back to your rooms," said Fran, appearing beside him. "They've got it fixed – finally – and they say this won't happen again." Her tone indicated she'd believe it when she saw it, or rather, heard it.

Instead of disturbing Ginny's peaceful sleep, Harry lifted his girlfriend into his arms and carried her carefully through the door out of the lounge and straight into her own room, which was directly across from the lounge door. He set her down on her bed, removed her shoes, pulled the covers over her, smoothed her hair out of her face, and gently kissed her goodnight. Ron was doing the same with Hermione on the other side of the room.

Harry yawned. "I'm for bed. You?"

"Hell yes. I'm whipped."

They exited the girls' room, shutting the door behind them. Harry was able to stay upright long enough to close their own door behind him, kick his shoes off, and actually get under his covers. He suspected Ron hadn't even done that much. He closed his eyes and felt sleep fall on top of him like a sixteen-ton weight...

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry's eyes shot open. He was in his dorm at Hogwarts, with Hermione and Neville leaning over him, looking worried. "What?"

"You wouldn't wake up," said Neville. "I kept shaking you and shaking you and you wouldn't wake up at all – and I tried Ron and he wouldn't wake up either. I finally went and got Hermione."

"How?"

"He asked Parvati to go up and get me." Hermione handed Harry his glasses. "Harry, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, usually when people won't wake up, they're ill."

Harry concentrated for a moment on how he felt. "I don't think I'm ill," he said finally. "I don't feel fevered or headachy or anything."

"I think you should go see Madam Pomfrey anyway," said Hermione firmly.

"What about Ron?"

"What about Ron?"

"He wouldn't wake up either. Do you think he's sick?"

Neville was already beside Ron's bed, shaking him. Ron groaned, then rolled over and opened his eyes. "Go away, Neville."

"It's getting late," said Neville. "Ten minutes to classes."

"Ten minutes?" Ron almost catapulted out of bed, swallowing whatever he was about to say when he saw Hermione. "That's not even enough time for breakfast!"

"And we don't have a break this morning," said Harry in annoyance, digging in his trunk for clean clothes. "Hermione, do you mind?"

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," she said, already halfway out the door. "Oh, and Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, on the forehead, not the nose."

Ron frowned. "What?"

Hermione opened her mouth – then an expression of worry came onto her face, quickly replaced by horror, and she dashed out of the room.

Harry, Ron, and Neville looked at each other in bafflement.

Ron voiced the sentiment first.

"Girls..."

* * *

Wednesday was similar to Monday. Charms was uneventful except for the arrival of Errol, the Weasley family owl, who swooped in through the door and was hit by a stray charm of Neville's which caused him to lose half his feathers and drop the letter for Ron he was carrying. Ron told an apologetic Neville that Errol actually looked better now.

The letter was from Mrs. Weasley and contained the heartening news that both Fred and George were well on the way to recovery, and probably wouldn't be able to teach on Thursday but almost certainly would the following Tuesday. Professor Flitwick let Ron out of class for a few minutes to find Ginny and tell her the good news.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, as Professor Fleming had promised, they discussed the theory of Memory Charms.

"Memory Charms, if used ethically, preserve or restore a unity within a human mind," said Professor Fleming, walking up and down at the front of the class. "This is why their use on Muggles who have seen magic in use is ethical. Most Muggles are unhappy knowing about magic. It disturbs them and their ideas of the world. A Memory Charm returns them to their so-called normal state."

Hermione raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, aren't some Muggles allowed to know about the magical world? Parents of Muggle-born students and so forth?"

"Yes, of course. I didn't say, nor did I mean, that no Muggle should know anything about magic. Magical law allows for Muggle parents or guardians, siblings, spouses, and other close relatives of wizards and witches to know about magic. However, a man being deliberately shown real magic by, say, his wife and a woman on the street catching a glimpse of a random man disappearing into thin air are two completely different things."

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron. Hermione appeared to have triggered Professor Fleming's lecture mode.

"The man in the first case can ask his wife questions and get answers. He has a reliable source of information. His life will continue, perhaps not as it did, but he will in time be able to incorporate magic into the normal structure of his world. The woman in the second case has no one to help her understand what she has seen, and there is no reason for her to understand it or know any more about it. For all concerned, it is better that she forget."

Seamus Finnegan stuck his hand up. "Has there ever been a Muggle-magical marriage where the magical one didn't tell the Muggle one about magic?"

"In all the years of magical history, I'm sure a case could be found, Mr. Finnegan. Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know if the law said you _have_ to tell your husband or wife you're magic if you marry a Muggle."

"I doubt the law would legislate such a narrow point. However, I also doubt any marriage in which there was so little trust between the spouses could last long."

Was it his imagination, Harry wondered, or had Professor Fleming's voice gotten just a trifle crisper on the last sentence?

The homework for Monday was two feet of parchment on creative ways to avoid using Memory Charms. "Take a situation created by magic," Professor Fleming instructed them, "and work to find ways in which it could also have been caused by Muggle means. Students with little or no knowledge of the Muggle world will wish to ask their peers with greater knowledge for help."

Blaise and Ron looked at Hermione as the bell rang. "Help," they said plaintively in unison.

* * *

"Potter," said Snape icily over the sound of the N.E.W.T. Potions class packing up. "Your Remedial Potions lessons will resume on Friday night. Seven o'clock, my office."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, trying not to look at Malfoy, who was staring at him gleefully.

"Do you have trouble with Potions?" asked Colleen as they left the dungeon.

"Sometimes." It was all Harry trusted himself to say.

"I'm pretty good with some of it. If you have questions, you can ask me."

"Thanks."

Because they weren't taking a ninth class, Harry and Ron had two hours' worth of break now. Hermione had an hour of break before Arithmancy and used the time for bullying both boys into going to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey checked them over and informed them that they were both in excellent health.

"So you can stop fussing over us now," said Ron as they left.

"I wasn't fussing. I was concerned."

"Long word, same thing."

"It is not."

Harry dropped back a few steps and let them go at it.

Ron and Hermione's "debate" lasted until Hermione left for Arithmancy. Harry and Ron spent their remaining hour outdoors with the Marauder's Map, updating their personal accounts and chatting with the original Marauders and their own personalities – Ron's personality, Redwing, had now activated as well. Aldima, Hermione's personality, was also active, according to the Marauders, but Ginny's Flamepaws and the twins' Vulpes and Reynard hadn't activated yet. It wasn't surprising, Harry thought, since the other Weasleys had used the Map less than he, Ron, and Hermione had.

Muggle Defense was more of the same – exercises designed to test flexibility, strength, and endurance, getting progressively harder as the class went on. Harry would have enjoyed it more if Snape hadn't been constantly watching him. It was as if Snape was waiting for him to falter or fail.

_No, not as if. I'm sure he is. _

It was a long two hours, and the groans were audible when Professor Fleming assigned another two-mile run to be completed for Friday.

"Same time, same place?" said Harry to Ron and Blaise as they changed.

Ron shrugged. "Why not."

Blaise nodded. "Fine with me."

* * *

The evening was devoted to homework. Ginny looked rather harried. "O.W.L.'s," she said shortly when questioned. The other three nodded in sympathy. They remembered all too well.

Hermione went to bed early, claiming a headache, but Harry wasn't far behind her. His whole body hurt from Muggle Defense, and his brain hurt from trying to remember everything Snape had told them in Potions – he was sure the Potions Master had tried to get two hours' worth of lecture into their one-hour Wednesday class.

He foggily remembered seeing Ron come in, but nothing more.

* * *

Harry lay on his bed, staring up at a book.

_Why do all these people have three names?_

Across the room, Ron suggested somewhere for his math book to go that Harry was sure he wouldn't have said in front of Hermione.

"Problem?"

"Yes. Actually, a whole bunch of them. Numbers 31-36. They all have three parts – and they're bloody impossible!"

Someone knocked on their door. "Come in," Harry called.

It was Ginny, clutching the same book Harry was trying to read. "Do you understand this?" she asked.

"No. You?"

"No. There are so many characters."

"And they all seem to have multiple names."

"And the plot makes no sense."

"And they never do anything."

"And this is the man they call the father of modern drama," finished Ginny with a sigh. "Oh well."

Hermione followed her into the room. "I thought I heard frustration through the wall," she said to Ron. "Need some help?"

"Yes."

Hermione pulled out Harry's desk chair and sat down next to Ron, their heads almost touching.

Ginny dropped her book on Harry's bed. "I'll be right back," she said. "Bathroom break."

"Oh, don't use the sink on the right," Harry said, remembering. "It's broken, the tap doesn't work."

Ginny grinned. "Maybe you ought to hiss at it and see if it moves."

Harry laughed. "Maybe I should."

His laughter seemed to stretch, as if time itself were slowing down. He had time to think strange, long thoughts.

_Why would I hiss at a sink? That's just weird._

_But I already did. Back in my second year._

_Second year of what?_

_Second year of Hogwarts, of course…_

_What's Hogwarts?_

His eyes were closing. He forced them open, seeing as through water Ron and Hermione looking at him with concern. Ron's mouth opened.

"Har…wha… ong?"

The voice seemed to have come through water as well, he was losing syllables and sounds. Hermione's eyes shifted, and her voice came through suddenly clearly. "Ginny!"

With an effort, Harry turned his head to see Ginny slumping against the doorframe, her eyes closing. He wanted to jump up and go to her, but his body wasn't working right, and his mind was still having that odd debate…

_You go to school at Hogwarts._

_No, I go to school at Carrington._

_No, Carrington's a place in a book. A fantasy. _

_A dream._

Ginny's eyes opened, fixed on Harry's. She mouthed a word.

"Dream…"

An image rushed into Harry's mind. A round room, with five four-poster beds hung with red curtains…

He closed his eyes, let himself fall backwards, and wished himself there.

"Harry!" shouted Hermione and Ron together at the edge of his hearing as he fell.

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry's eyes snapped open. Ron was thrashing around in his bed, shouting Harry's name incoherently. Harry scrambled over to his friend and shook him hard as Dean got the dormitory lights turned on.

Ron came awake with a shudder. "Harry!"

"I'm here," said Harry. "What's wrong?"

"You – you passed out or something, you looked like you were dying–"

"Ron, you were asleep. We all were. It was a dream."

"If you two are going to talk long, can you take it down to the common room?" asked Seamus, stifling a yawn behind a hand. "I'm dead tired."

"Sure. Come on, Ron."

Harry somehow wasn't surprised to see a frightened-looking Hermione and a slightly wary Ginny in the common room already. Hermione dashed at him and hugged him tightly before he even got off the stairs. "You fell down," she said in a shaking voice. "You fell on your bed and you were all pale and Ginny was falling down too – and then I was here…"

Harry steered the two of them to a sofa and got Hermione to sit down beside him. Ron took an armchair next to Ginny's, and they sat for a moment, looking at each other.

Ginny broke the silence. "Ron, can you give me an F?"

Ron hummed a note. Ginny repeated it in her own octave. "It's yours too, Harry," she said. "Ron, you take the A, Hermione, you're on the C."

Harry was about to ask for what, when Ginny hummed the first few notes of a melody he recognized. He took up the original note Ron had given them, Hermione and Ron filled in the chord, and they began to sing, very quietly so as not to wake anyone.

_Carrington College, yonder on the hill,_

_Through all the years, our hearts are turning still,_

_In love to thee, and so they ever will,_

_O, Alma Mater, Beatissima._

It was about as perfect a rendition as could have been imagined. Ginny even hit the difficult rhythm near the end that Big Guy was always pressuring the sopranos about.

The last chord died away.

No one quite knew what to say.

* * *

(A/N: Including the author… who is really and truly sorry… and hopes that her intention to finish this story before HBP comes out will make up for not updating for literally months… :hopeful smile:) 


	26. Apology

Author's Note (also posted on Helen Potter and the Specters of the Past)

It's difficult to know how to say this, but I'll give it a shot. Thank you all for reading, and those of you who have reviewed, thank you for that too. There is no way I can ever tell you what all your support has meant to me.

Now for the hard part. I have become so blocked that continuing these stories would be more of a chore than anything. I understand that all my readers enjoy my writing, but I'm afraid I'm not going to do this if it's not fun for me. I have therefore decided to discontinue writing this universe. However, I have several times heard the sentiment that there's nothing worse than an unfinished story, and I happen to agree.

So...

I do have something of an outline for this story. And I will put it in this chapter, down a suitable amount of spoiler space that if you want to take the chance that I might someday be able to keep writing on this story, you don't have to read it. But if you just want to find out how this story comes out, scroll on down and enjoy.

If you want to drop me a line and review, I'd love it, but just please don't yell at me. You have no idea how much I wish I could keep writing this. But I pride myself on writing well, and I just don't think I can write this story the way it deserves to be written. I've tried a hundred times, and the words just will not come. So I'm going to quit while I'm ahead, and give you as much of the story as I can, so you don't lose out too much.

I'm really sorry about this, everyone. Please, someday, try to find it in your hearts to forgive me. I'll still be around, reading and reviewing and such, and maybe someday I'll write again. In the meantime, you can try my beta's stuff – her name is Anne and her penname is whydoyouneedtoknow. She's written a huge and (in my admittedly biased opinion) pretty awesome AU world, starting before Harry is two and currently paused at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, with plans to write all seven years.

I'll miss you, everyone. Good luck, God bless (yes, even you atheists – just be glad He believes in you), and don't let the pixies pinch.

SarahtheBardess

June 5, 2005

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There, I think that ought to be enough, don't you?

Yes, the four of them are all having the same dreams. They confirm this by asking questions about details, and everything checks out. Hermione researches (no surprise) and finds out that they've developed something called a Sontari Bond. It forms between brothers and sisters, close friends, or (blush time) those in love, usually after some great loss, and allows them limited access to one another's minds and emotions.

The Bond is the reason Voldemort and Umbridge can't get to Harry in his dreams as easily any more. Go back and look – every time Harry's dreams are invaded, he's sleeping alone. When one of the other three is also asleep, the Bond is active and the baddies can't get at him, or at least not as easily.

Harry overhears a conversation between Lupin and Snape, in which Lupin plays on Snape's vanity and pride to get him to do something. Soon after, Snape catches Harry playing his guitar for Ginny to sing in an empty classroom, but (inexplicably) gives points to Gryffindor. At some point, there is also an Azkaban breakout (doesn't really surprise anyone).

Umbridge can't get into the Sontari Bond dreams, so she sends one of her flunkies, who happens to have a blood connection with two of the dreamers, and that's enough to break in – yes, Percy Weasley shows up at Carrington. Harry, now knowing that the dreams are his to control, forces Percy to take part in a rehearsal of _Twelfth Night_, as Malvolio. Read the play if you want to find out why that's funny. In choir, Ginny proves herself one of the best sopranos around, even able to sing a high B-flat (which is impressive).

Harry has little success with Occlumency lessons until November, when he dreams of Erica lighting an Advent wreath, and Hermione finds him a book that recommends using a focus to clear his mind. He tries a flame as a focus and finds himself thinking of the Advent wreath, and suddenly he's in his mind, standing inside a huge one – and Snape is outside it, and can't get in.

The wreath not only symbolizes Harry's Occlumency abilities, but the Bond among the four of them. Advent wreaths have four candles, three blue, one pink. Each of the four of them sees him/herself as the blue candle opposite the pink one, his/her friends as the other two blue candles, and his/her romantic interest as the pink one – and they have had to admit that they kind of, sort of, a little bit like each other, since dreaming that they're more or less engaged. Cho keeps trying to get Harry interested in her again, but he's (as politely as possible) told her thanks but no thanks.

The four of them go to the midnight release party for the fifth Erica Gorelli book and see lots of people there – the Creevey brothers, Cho, Blaise and Colleen, Ernie Macmillan, etc. A rock band plays there called "Hips of Steel", which was the name of a band that Erica and her friends made up (although none of them actually play instruments). The band members are all dressed as characters from the books, and Harry recognizes a few of them – Fred and George are there, as is Professor McGonagall – but he doesn't recognize the lead guitarist until the very last song, when he figures out it's Snape.

Harry buys the Muggle editions of the Erica Gorelli books, thinking Dudley might like them – it's Christmas, he feels like being charitable – and sneaks out after the release party to mail them. He gets himself kidnapped by Death Eaters (yes, I'm sure you could see that one coming).

While in durance vile, Harry overhears a conversation between Lucius and Draco Malfoy, in which Draco mentions that "Odile" told him that Harry would be leaving the party to go to the Muggle post office. He also overhears a little hissy voice commenting on his scent, and answers it – yes, there happens to be a snake hanging around Death Eater headquarters, what a big surprise. He gets it to investigate the room for him, and it brings him back his wand.

Harry gets himself free and takes down Draco Malfoy, who's supposed to be guarding him, and discovers Metamorphmagus Mints in Malfoy's pocket. This is bad. Only the Order and the DA are supposed to be able to buy the Mints. Harry takes them with him, and uses a Peppermint Nemesis to turn himself into Malfoy's double, thus walking out of the house with no trouble – and it turns out to be only a few blocks from Grimmauld Place, allowing him to quietly return to Order Headquarters and scare the living daylights out of everyone anxiously waiting for news of him.

"Odile" is obviously the code name for the Death Eaters' spy, either in the Order or at Hogwarts – but who could it be? They try to figure it out all through the rest of the year.

Hermione buys a book entitled _The Fire Rose_ for Professor Fleming (who has joined the Order) for Christmas – it's by Mercedes Lackey (like _The Black Swan, _which was mentioned in Chapter 13), she discovered it through their dreams, and it's about a woman who loves a werewolf. No one ever claimed subtlety was Hermione's strong point.

During the spring, there's an attack on the Ministry of Magic, and Tonks is killed protecting Arthur Weasley. Remus brings the news to Hogwarts, understandably rather upset, and Harry, when he is summoned to Dumbledore's office, decides that he knows what Remus needs, or rather who he needs. Harry "faints" – in reality taking himself to the Advent wreath visualization – and lights Ron's candle, bringing them into mental contact. He tells Ron to get Professor Fleming to Dumbledore's office – "break Malfoy's arm if you have to." Ron, of course, is delighted, and thus Athena Fleming arrives in time to comfort Remus.

Ron's 17th birthday also arrives, and over the Easter holidays the twins start teaching him to Apparate. (This story was begun before we knew Hermione was older than the boys, and I'm sticking with the idea that she's younger, since it is slightly important.) Also during the spring, Angelina's baby is born – his name is Craig Sirius Weasley, and he never stops crying.

At the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are hanging around together when Ginny comes running up and says she has to show them something. She takes them off into the woods alone. Just as Harry starts to get suspicious, they hear someone scream nearby – and the scream turns into a sung note – Ron identifies it as a high B-flat. It's Ginny – so the Ginny standing in front of them must be a fake. They try to take her down, but she had accomplices in the woods – Malfoy and his gang – who disarm our heroes and Portkey them away to Malfoy Manor.

"Ginny" turns out to be Cho Chang, using the Peppermint Nemesis to take on the form of her rival for Harry. She was Odile – the Black Swan – and now our heroes are trapped in a large, echoing stone room full of Death Eaters. But before they get around to killing Harry and the others, Voldemort announces, he has a surprise for everyone. He reveals Lucius Malfoy. Dead.

And why is he dead? Because it turns out he was secretly a halfblood – his mother had a fling with a Muggle and used magic to permanently disguise the resulting baby so no one would ever know about it – but she told him when he was old enough to understand. This also makes Draco a halfblood (by JKR's rules) and what with that and his father being dead, he's more than a little shaken up.

If Lucius had admitted to it, claims Voldemort, he might have spared him, but it was so very entertaining to watch him squirm as he tried to bluster it out. At this point, Snape rushes in, claiming something needs Voldemort's immediate attention. Harry recognizes an opportunity when he sees one.

As soon as Voldemort and Snape are gone, Harry volunteers himself and his friends as entertainment – they will sing for the Death Eaters. They manage to settle their nerves enough to perform a piece with a very wide range, and determine the resonance note of the room, which is A. As soon as the song is over, Ron gives them the note again, and they sing four octaves of it and throw magic behind it, creating enough resonance to make something along the lines of a sonic blast, taking down all the Death Eaters.

They get their wands back, take all the Death Eaters' wands as well, and decide, grudgingly, that they'd better take Draco with them, since he may be a jerk, but he doesn't deserve to get killed. They put themselves into a full link with the Sontari Bond, and Ron takes control of it and Apparates them all to Grimmauld Place.

And thus the sixth year ends.

If you have questions, you can e-mail me with them (I will answer, I check the thing compulsively) or go to Anne's Yahoo group (I'm on that compulsively as well).

Again, I'm sorry about this. Please don't hate me too much for it... a little hate won't hurt me, but a lot might seep through the computer and bite me... oh dear, I'm going nuts here. I'd better stop. Thank you again, everyone who's ever read or reviewed, and best of luck down the road.


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